


Homewrecker

by taylorgirl6



Series: Strong Girls [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Drama, Extortion, F/F, Falling In Love, LGBTQ Themes, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:35:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 77,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27240556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylorgirl6/pseuds/taylorgirl6
Summary: Tara owns an old house that needs lots of work, but college drains her time, and her job drains her soul. Perhaps a new roommate can help in more ways than she expects. Sadly, she isn't the only one with secrets. Even Willow, the sweet woman who steals her heart, has plenty hidden beneath the surface.
Relationships: Tara Maclay/Willow Rosenberg
Series: Strong Girls [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2060046
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work posted to this forum. It's possible that you've seen parts of it elsewhere, but much of it has been rewritten and enhanced. This is a work multiple years in the making, and it's finally being completed.

“The PROTECT Act of 2003 is a United States law with the stated intent of preventing child abuse. The acronym PROTECT stands for Prosecutorial Remedies and Other Tools to end the Exploitation of Children Today,” the professor cleared his throat for the third time in as many minutes. “This law has the following effects,” he picked up the black marker and began drawing bullet points in slouching penmanship across the oversized whiteboard behind the desk at the head of the lecture hall. “It provides for mandatory life imprisonment of sex offenses against a minor if the offender has had a prior conviction of abuse against a minor, with some exceptions,” he wrote in shorthand. “We will note the exceptions later in this lecture.”

Tara watched the black marker dust gather on the white cuff of his dress shirt. She yawned for the fourth time in as many minutes. The curly haired girl on her right scowled at the outright act of boredom, then bent low over her notebook to obscure her own stifled yawn.

“It bars pretrial release of persons charged with specified offenses against or involving children,” the professor droned on. With each new line, the words evoked a steady squeak of marker on white board. “And it prohibits drawings, sculptures, and pictures of such drawings and sculptures depicting minors in actions or situations that meet the Miller test of being obscene, or are engaged in sex acts that are deemed to meet the same obscene condition. The law does not explicitly state that images of fictional beings who appear to be under 18 engaged in sexual acts that are not deemed to be obscene are rendered illegal in and of their own condition.” The clatter of the pen being dropped into the metal tray roused several other students toward the back of the auditorium. “Three pages of argument for or against this law will be due on my desk by Thursday,” he announced, which signaled to everyone that class was over. The rustle of bags and backpacks soon drowned out any further instructions he offered.

“Are you keeping up on your notes?” a voice hissed at Tara from behind. She reluctantly turned her head and scowled at the tall, lanky boy she had watched steadily grow into a young man over the last three years. He immediately shrank in the hard lecture hall seat, “Sorry…”

Tara stretched and stood, gathering her things. “No, I’m sorry, Drew,” she softened. “I’ll tidy them up for you sometime tonight.”

Drew slung a worn, olive green army pack over his shoulder. He was a perpetual mystery of new clothes and belongings that already looked worn and tattered. “No rush. I just…. You know how bad I am in this class. I need all the help I can get.” Both students lifted seats up as they worked their way to the end of the row. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now, Tare.”

“I’m so fucking tired,” she mumbled, then turned to face her friend, and they both snickered. Drew reached an arm out and gave her a sideways hug. “No pun intended, there,” she blushed.

“Glad you can find some humor in life again,” he kissed the top of her head, an easy task since he easily stood a good six inches over her. 

Her long, blonde hair was pulled loosely into a low ponytail that had been haphazardly tucked under her collar when she slipped her dark blue sweater on. Tara sighed noisily. “Humor in life is no problem.” She turned and faced the front of the lecture hall. “Humor in work, however,” her shoulders sagged, “not so easy.”

“Hey,” a gentle hand rested on her shoulder, and she turned back to gaze into the warm, brown eyes of her best friend. “We’ve been over this. It won’t always be this way.” Tara smiled, and the pull on her face reminded her that smiling had not come naturally to her in far too long. “All work and no play may pay Tara’s tuition, but it certainly doesn’t do anything for her wild side.”

“Wild side?” she grinned wider. “I think that part has died of malnutrition. Anyway,” she reorganized the books in her hand and slid them into her well-kept fake leather bag, her own manner of dressing the complete opposite of Drew’s, “I doubt I’m up for the hip life tonight.”

“Perfect,” Drew lit up. “Come over. I’ll cook.”

Tara leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “You’re the perfect man.”

“Six o’clock. Do not be late,” he chided over his shoulder as he skipped up the last of the steps to the doorway.

She watched his shadow disappear from the doorway, knowing that she couldn’t fight the inevitable any longer. Before free will could rear its ugly head, she turned and marched down the long stairs to the professor’s desk. “Ah, Tara,” he looked up from the notes he was rearranging and placing back in their folder. His glasses had slid down his nose further than Tara was comfortable seeing. She felt the ridiculous desire to extend a single finger and push them back up onto the bridge of his nose. “Shall we?” He stood and pushed the lid of the briefcase down, fastening it with two sharp snaps. Tara forced a smile onto her face, but the light in her eyes had faded. She nodded and fell into step beside the professor as they made their way to his study.

Just before the door fell closed behind her, she spared a glance at the lines on the white board. “… authorizes fines and/or imprisonment for up to 30 years for U.S. citizens or residents who engage in illicit sexual conduct abroad,” she read. The door creaked as the last of the fluorescent light was shut out, and one word crept into Tara’s mind. She mumbled under breath as she turned back to the confident, tenured professor in his abominable tweed suit, “Hypocrite.”

“Hey Liz!” Tara called out into the old house as she closed the front door with her right foot. It slammed slightly, and she cringed, as she always did, fearing that the huge pane of glass that extended top to bottom would shatter in reaction to her repeated clumsiness. Three years of bad habits and it was about the only thing in the ancient craftsman house that hadn’t broken. “Liz?”

A thump on the second floor accompanied by the clatter of paint cans was followed by rapid footsteps. “Hi Tara!” a voice called out. “Down in a sec.” Tara dropped her bag by the small table in the hall and bent down to pick up the mail from its daily resting place on the floor. She absently kicked off her shoes and walked into the kitchen, filling the kettle with water and setting it on the stove without taking her eyes off the latest Crate and Barrel catalog. “Ooh, make me some, too,” the girl behind her cooed as she pulled up a chair to the slightly more realistic than rustic kitchen table in the center of the room. Tara set the catalog down and opened the cupboard in search of clean mugs. “How was your day?”

“Don’t ask,” Tara rolled her eyes as she began to wash a few dishes. Nothing was clean. Nothing was ever clean. She loved Liz as a roommate for lots of reasons, but cleanliness was not one of them. “How about you? Did you get the ceiling done?”

Liz picked up a dish towel and began wiping partially dried drywall mud from her hands. “Yeah, finally. That only took me a week of my life I’ll never get back. Listen,” she began in a different tone. Tara sensed the shift and immediately turned around. Her roommate was a mess. Bits of dust and drywall formed a trail from the hall into the kitchen, and Liz’s shirt was more white than blue, though Tara remembered the day she brought it home a little over a year before. “You know I interviewed for that post-doc at NYU,” her voice trailed off.

Tara reached behind herself and shut the hot water off. “You got it?” she said excitedly. Liz smiled broadly and nodded her head. “But that’s great!” Both girls jumped up and down and rushed to hug one another. “Damn, Liz. Congratulations!”

Liz nearly glowed, despite Tara’s furious attempts to dust the white powder from her own shirt after their embrace. “Thanks, Tare. You know how bad I wanted it. So now I’ve just gotta pack.”

No one spoke. Tara stopped brushing her shirt and looked into her friend’s face in mild shock. “Pack.”

“Yes. Pack.”

“Pack,” Tara said again, letting it sink in.

“Tara, you knew I wouldn’t stay forever.” Tara knew. She had always known that their arrangement was temporary, she just hadn’t expected the end to come so soon. Liz took Tara’s clean, damp hand into her own dusty one. “Don’t worry,” she soothed. “I’ll find someone else.” They both sighed, knowing how likely her chances were. “Just give me a couple of days…”

“Days? Just days?” Tara felt tears stinging the back of her eyes.

“I’ve already got a ticket for Thursday,” Liz grabbed the whistling tea kettle and poured hot water over the tea bags in their mugs as they sat down. She pushed the Graze at Mae’s mug with the hairline crack in it across to the blonde. “I’ll find someone.”

“Four days,” Tara sighed. “Will you at least send me an email once in a while?”

“Aw, Tara,” her friend’s blue eyes moistened. She reached across the scarred wooden table and took hold of Tara’s hand again. Tara glanced at the heavily callused fingers between her own smooth ones and found herself wondering if this was the only way for people to get through to her. Drew took her hand when she wouldn’t listen. Liz took her hand now. Her mother had taken her hand in every one of Tara’s memories of them together. “Of course I’ll write you.” A playful smile halted Liz’s tears. “How else will I get my papers edited?”

Tara laughed and squeezed the hand in her own. “I’m gonna run a bath. I’m exhausted.”

“Um,” Liz hesitated, “a shower wouldn’t do?”

“Liz?” the blonde stared into her friend’s dust-covered face.

Liz held her hands up defensively. “It wasn’t me, I swear. The faucet started leaking yesterday, and you were gone last night…” Tara let her head drop into her hands. “So I cut open the wall to see how bad the water damage was…”

“Oh, God.”

“I think it’s all rotted behind there.”

“I cannot,” she emphasized the words as she spoke, “afford a plumber.”

Liz nodded, having expected as much. “Just close the door on it for now and use the shower upstairs.” Tara lifted her eyes just enough to burn a hole through her friend’s forehead with her glare. “I know, I know. Just let me make some calls.”

“Tara, honey, it’s four o’clock,” Drew started to say. He stopped when he saw her face and quickly pulled her into his tidy Capitol Hill apartment. “What happened?” he asked as he untied the red and white striped apron from around his trim waist.

“I need a bath.” She hastily pushed past him and started down the hall. Drew followed her, quietly gathering towels and what he knew to be her favorite body wash from the linen closet. “And thank you for not taking the obvious crack at that last statement.”

Drew smiled warmly. “There are days to joke and days to let ‘em go.” He filled her arms with everything she would need for a relaxing soak. “You go get some Tara time. I have vegetables that need me.”

Tara dutifully ducked into the bathroom and began filling the tub. She opened the lid of the body wash and drank in the scent of gardenia. “You are a saint, Andrew Malone, a goddamn saint.” Tara smiled at the only functional relationship she had ever had. “Well I’m gay and you’re gay, so why can’t it work!” they had joked when they first met. Tara unbuttoned her scarlet blouse and tried not to care about the drywall dust now embedded in the fine embroidery. Her long skirt slipped off with the last of her cares, and Tara closed her eyes as her toes met hot water. She pulled her long hair back and sank into the bubbles, content to let the world spin on without her for as long as she could avoid it.

A light knock on the door brought her out of her reverie for the first time in fifteen minutes. “Better yet?” the young man made himself cozy on the side of the tub.

“I will be if I can stay in here for a few days. A week, maybe?”

“I’ll cancel your appointments,” he joked with her. “Liz called. She wanted to make sure you made it over alright. You know how she feels about public transit.”

Tara smiled and sighed at the same time. “And she knows how I feel about car payments and parking tickets.”

“And plumbers?” Drew raised his eyebrows.

“Do not get me started,” she sank back down beneath the bubbles.

“I know you love that old place, sweetie, but even hundred year old houses get tired and wear out. You’re running yourself ragged.” He pointedly avoided her glare. “You work too much,” he turned his own accusing glare at her, “exams will be coming up in no time, and I don’t even know the last time you did anything for yourself.”

“Hot bath?” Tara mentioned with as much innocence as she could muster, playfully splashing at her friend. 

“Not good enough!” he smiled. “Seriously, Tara, when are you going to quit… working?” his words came out slowly, awkwardly.

Tara sat up slightly in the bath, careful to keep as much skin as possible under the bubbles. She smoothed the damp curls of hair at the back of her neck and breathed deeply. “Just one more year, Drew. I’m so close to graduating, and then I won’t need the money.” He sat quietly while she shampooed her hair. “Fall quarter tuition will be due in a couple of weeks, and I don’t know what I’m going to do about the mortgage on the house without Liz around.”

“Maybe if you let your friends help take care of you a little,” he suggested.

After rinsing her hand under the water, Tara reached up, dripping on Drew’s ragged jeans a little, and put her hand on his arm. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, well,” he kissed her forehead, then wiped his damp lips and stood up, “that’s a start. I don’t know why you always refuse to move in. We spend every day together anyway.” He opened the door and reached into the hall, searching for the soft white robe from the closet. He hung it on the hook at the back of the door.

Tara sat back and rinsed her hair, splashing a little over the edge of the tub. “Because that house has been in my family since it was built, and I refuse to let it go.”

“Everyone else in your family let it go,” he mumbled, quickly darting out into the hallway before Tara could yell at him.

“Jerk,” she grinned, taking one last moment to enjoy the hot water enveloping her. With a yawn and a stretch, she pushed herself up onto the tub edge and began to towel off. As she dried her feet and legs one at a time, letting the thick shag rug tangle between her toes, she stood and looked at herself in the long mirror beside the sink. Drew loved to look at himself so much that there were mirrors in every room. Tara moved her towel one edge at a time and took in glimpses of her own body, frowning at the newly formed bruises on her right thigh. Her critical eyes moved higher, resting on the curves of her hips. “What do they see?” she wondered aloud. Her pale flesh was still pink from the steam and heat. “I’ve gotta learn to cook before the Ghirardelli stamp starts to show through my ass,” she turned and raised her eyebrows, looking for the signs of three nights’ worth of chocolate for dinner. She dropped the towel and slipped into the thick robe, pulling the collar up onto her damp neck.

“Nice to see you looking a bit more like yourself,” Drew poured her a glass of wine as she sat on the barstool in the kitchen to watch him cook. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“What are you trying this time?” she held the glass delicately and tried to look through the vibrant merlot. Drew changed from shades of white and blue to dark reds and browns under a scarlet light.

“Greek!” he bounced, caught up in his own little world. “I’ve got spanakopita in the oven. It’ll be ready any minute.”

Tara sipped the wine and let it rest on her tongue. Cherries and hints of chocolate danced in her mouth before she swallowed. The oven timer began to beep, and Drew bent down to pull the glass dish out. “It smells delicious. I think you may have rescued me from the worst day of my life.”

Drew set the dish down and picked up his own glass of wine, moving over to sit beside the wet-haired girl in his oversized robe. They touched glasses and smiled as though they’d had too much to drink, though the evening had only just started. “To better days,” he toasted.


	2. Chapter 2

Thursday. Tara looked at the clock in the library for the seventh time. Eleven o’clock. Thursday. Liz would be on a plane in two hours. She must surely be on her way to the airport already. Thursday. She had promised Tara she would find someone to take her place in the big old house in Ballard. “Yeah, sure, ya betchya,” she mocked under her breath, quickly looking around to hope that no one else had heard her. Who would want to rent a room in a house that couldn’t even pass inspection? She looked at the clock again. Eleven fifteen. The tip of her pen tapped nervously on the notebook in front of her. The paper for her Legal Research and Advocacy class was due this afternoon. Her house would be empty when she got home. “Focus, Maclay,” she chided herself. Her pen behaved, and she managed to pour a paragraph onto the lined notebook page. The clock ticked. She glanced at it. Eleven forty-five. Without warning, a loud noise interrupted her attempt at saving her education and future employability. “Shit!” she whispered a little too loudly, realizing she had forgotten to turn her cell phone to silent. She answered it hastily and grabbed her books, barely keeping everything in her grasp as she dove for the front door. “Hello? Liz?” she said a little louder as she emerged into Red Square.

“Tara!” the familiar voice answered through the slightly battered cell phone she’d kept since her freshman year. “I just got through security at SeaTac, and my plane is gonna start loading in thirty minutes.”

“Did you take the light rail like I told you to?”

“Yes,” the answer came, laced with bitterness. Tara grinned proudly. “They spent how many millions to build that damned thing? It doesn’t even go all the way to the airport yet!” Liz howled. “I still had to transfer to a bus to go the last mile. And you would think for all that money that they could put some padding in those fucking seats.”

Tara tried not to laugh directly into the phone. “I am so impressed! You rode public transportation!”

“I love you, and I’m gonna miss you like crazy, but don’t take it the wrong way when I say, screw you, Tara Maclay.”

“I love you, too, Liz.”

“I can hear you smiling over that phone, dammit,” her friend snapped back. “So listen. You know I’m sorry for bailing on you with such short notice.”

Tara’s smile faded slightly, and she slouched under the weight of her books. “I know.”

“I called everyone I know, Tare. Believe me,” Liz pleaded, “I tried to find somebody.”

“It’s okay,” Tara lied. “I’ll work it out somehow.” They said their goodbyes, and she pushed the END button on the phone, letting her hand drop to her side. A group of pigeons edged closer to her still form, pecking at the recently emptied contents of someone’s lunch bag by the big fountain. Tara looked out over the landscape to where she knew Mount Rainier should be. It was overcast, though, and the mountain was hidden behind thin, grey clouds. She thought about her motivation, her energy, her lack of sleep, and she had the sudden, sharp image of a little toggle switch inside her chest, just behind her right lung. The top, where it rested, was labeled, “fight.” The tiny silver switch snapped down to the bottom label, which read, “give in.”

Tara’s left hand worked furiously under the table as she broke apart the pumpkin scone with her right hand. “Hey!” Drew shouted at her, making her jump in the uncomfortable metal chair outside the small coffee shop on Broadway. “Would you stop that?”

“Stop what?” she tried to make her face look blank.

“Texting under the table,” he pursed his lips. “I thought we were having coffee? Have you even been listening to me?”

“I have!” she pleaded. “You were saying how the Abercrombie and Fitch ads were stupid because the guys have no chest hair and must not have hit puberty yet.”

“And you,” he accused, “were working during family time.”

Tara put the cell phone on the table and crammed a chunk of scone into her mouth. “I’m thorry, Drew,” a few crumbs escaped her lips as she chewed. “I’m just trying to squeeze in a couple of extra appointments this week.”

Drew rolled his eyes and ran his fingers through his thick, wavy hair. “How many?” he asked, his words less of a question than a groan.

The blonde focused on her mocha, avoiding his eyes. “Seven,” she whispered.

“Seven?!” he shouted. “Tara!”

“What?” she shouted back, hushing the argument slightly. She silently thanked the weather for cooperating enough to let them eat outside. Most of the patrons were inside on the comfortable leather couches and lounge chairs. September would be over in two more days, and the chill that had started the week before was intensifying daily.

Drew slouched back in the chair, his wrinkled, blue check shirt falling open just enough to show off the form-fitting tank top underneath. He never worked to get attention from other men, and Tara absently wondered what all the mirrors were for. “So how bad is it?”

“How bad is what?” Tara pretended not to understand his question.

He smirked. “Cute. Playing the blonde card today?” Tara flushed, knowing she’d been called out. “Money. How far in the hole are you?”

Looking up at the awning above the tiny café table, she spotted the areas they always missed when cleaning. A grey film covered the orange cloth up to the brick exterior of the building beside them. “I’m not behind yet, but the mortgage is due next week.” Drew softened. He knew she was struggling. “Seven covers what I need,” she lowered her eyes back to the table and sipped her drink. 

The cell phone vibrated on the table. Drew picked it up and read the text. “Confirmed,” he frowned.

“I’ve been fine for three years, Drew,” she took the phone from his hand and shoved it in the pocket of her jeans. This was the only day off she would get all week, and she had no intention of dressing up. Her sweatshirt had splotches of three different colors of paint on it. “I’ll make it work.” He stared into her eyes for a beat, then nodded. “Going out tonight?” She watched his eyes follow a tall, blonde man from the street corner. He glanced at Drew as he strolled past.

“Maybe,” Drew grinned. Tara raised her eyebrows and leaned over to her left to stare at the blonde. Predictably, he turned to have one last view of the gorgeous boy in blue at her table. “Okay, okay,” he threw his arms up in resignation, “you know I’m going out. Are you up to it? I think there’s a drag show at R Place.”

Tara shook her head quickly. “No, not for me tonight. No action, no drama, no dancing, no fun. Just me, a bottle of wine, and a poorly written romance novel,” she declared. “I need a night off from everything.”

“Go slow, oooh-oooh, oooh-oooh, honey. Take it ea-sy on the curves,” Tara sang as she unlocked the heavy front door and made her way into the house. The cord from her earbuds caught on the doorknob and yanked them from her ears, sending her iPod skittering across the hardwood floor. “Shit,” she cursed, bending down to pick it up and examine it. Her ears, now free of Julie London’s sweet voice, caught the creak of the floorboards above her head. Tara froze. Someone was in her house. She looked outside. It was dark already. She hadn’t noticed any lights on, but she knew she was careless about leaving them on when she left the house. The floor creaked again. Tara felt her heart pound in her chest. She slowly set down her bag and looked around. Nothing was out of place. Well, she reasoned, the house was the same mess it had been this morning before she hopped a bus to meet Drew on Broadway. Cardboard boxes and buckets of paint held tattered drop cloths off the floor, and the assortment of trowels and drywall knives Liz had used to finish off her last project sat haphazardly on the windowsill in the formal dining room. Bare wires hung from the hole in the ceiling which once held a chandelier. Tara had taken it down a year ago, hoping to get it rewired and back into usable condition. That was when she discovered the ancient knob and tube wiring. The first electrician she had brought out to bid on the task of re-wiring the house had been enough for her to can that project until a much later date. 

Footsteps sounded upstairs once more, and Tara stared at their path from the bathroom to the second bedroom over the kitchen. Determined, she grabbed the full sized mag-light from the table by the front door and marched up the dusty steps to the second story. She glanced right and saw that the bathroom door was open and the light was on. Just beside it, the bedroom door was ajar. She could see the shadow of someone walking around casually inside. Tara worked up her courage and breathed like she was going to dive for the bottom of the pool in her high school gym class. “Okay, you m-mother-fucker!” she shouted. Her chest vibrated with nervous tremors. “The c-cops are on the way already, s-so you’d better g-get,” she struggled against her stuttering, “Just get out of my house!”

“Okay, hang on there,” a small voice bargained from within the bedroom. The door squeaked as it was pulled further open. “Just calm down,” a thin girl held her hands up as she crept around the door frame and out into the hallway. “I think there’s been a bit of a mistake.”

Tara crouched a few inches, ready to hurl the flashlight at the intruder, but the more she stared, the more ridiculous she felt. The girl at the end of the hall was frozen in her own panic. “Oh, god. I’m sorry,” Tara began, lowering the blunt weapon to her side. “I thought…”

“No,” the redhead began to relax and walked closer, “it’s totally my fault. Liz sent me an email last night and told me this place had a room for rent, and the timing was just too perfect to be true for me. But you must have filled it already.” She shrugged innocently. “I haven’t really unpacked anything. I can just load it back up in my car if that’s okay with you?”

“Rent?” Tara’s entire demeanor shifted. “You want to rent the room?”

The girl’s head fell to the left, and her long hair trailed behind it. “It’s still available?” She rushed forward and extended her hand a bit too eagerly. Tara stepped back in wonder. “Sorry,” the girl apologized quickly. “Little jumpy,” she explained. “It’s been a long day.”

Tara reached out delicately and shook the offered hand. “Tara Maclay. And sorry about the shouting.”

“Willow Rosenberg,” the nervous girl smiled. “And sorry about the breaking and entering.”

Willow had let herself in at the direction of the email from Liz. She put the key back under the clay pot that once held a live plant and bent down to read the tag. “Oregano. Hmm.” She poked around the yard for a few minutes, convinced that no one was home, nor would they mind. Her hands pulled aside dried clematis vines and ruffled the furry seed heads of ornamental grasses. Someone had loved this garden once. Determined to take all of this as a good sign, Willow turned back to the porch and opened the back door. She emerged into a spacious kitchen complete with high ceilings, mismatched appliances, and walls that had been wallpapered and then painted over. One of the two light switches worked, the other did nothing. She grinned. Moving on, she made her way through a formal dining room with bare wires hanging down over a drop cloth covered table, a living room without baseboards, and up a flight of stairs that desperately needed to be sanded out, puttied, stained. She stopped at the top and squinted to see down the dark hallway. None of the light switches worked. Plaster crunched under her shoes as she made her way to a bedroom at the end of the hall. The door opened into a cozy room with a huge, beautiful window overlooking the front of the house. Elliot Bay sparkled in the early autumn sunshine, and the northern hillside of Magnolia was flushed with greens and reds. Willow inhaled sharply at the incredible view. It was the perfect house.

Tara, on the other hand, was a complete mystery. At first, Willow had thought the woman was going to club her like a baby seal, but now, after being invited into the kitchen, “It’s the only place in this house anyone can stand to be,” Tara had explained, the redhead found herself incapable of taking her eyes away from the flowing movements of the shy blonde. She sat beside Willow and poured wine into two glasses. “It belonged to my mother,” she continued, her tone apologetic and slightly embarrassed.

“Was she a gardener?” Willow lifted the glass, and her lips came away stained faintly red. Tara watched them open and close as the girl spoke. She couldn’t possibly be old enough for college. Tara made a mental note to call Liz in the morning and ask where she had found this person.

“Those poor plants,” Tara mused distractedly, as though the question had only just reminded her that an entire garden of neglect sat just outside the kitchen door. “She spent so much time worrying over every little seedling.” The blonde turned her attention back to the present. “Surely you’ve seen what a wreck this house is.”

The sadness in her eyes brought such emotion up into Willow’s throat that she set the glass of wine down. “You don’t need to defend it,” she began. “Paint and fixtures and windows are like clothes. They don’t change what’s underneath.” Tara glanced down at her old sweatshirt and realized for the first time how dreadful she must look. Willow’s eyes followed hers. “I mean,” Tara looked back up when the redhead spoke and caught her eyes resting in the folds of paint-splotched material that had gathered around her breasts, “what’s underneath parts of the house,” Willow added quickly, her eyes darting back to the wineglass.

“What did Liz tell you?” Tara narrowed her eyes at the girl. She folded her arms across her chest, conflicted by her desire not to be viewed as an object and her need to cover monthly expenses.

“Um,” Willow hesitated, “just that she had to break her lease and needed someone to take over the rent for her.” She alternately straightened and slouched, nervous that her eyes would betray her again. “Liz did mention that you might be willing to exchange some rent money for labor, and…” her voice trailed off.

“And that the house was falling apart at the seams?” Tara finished for her. They both smiled. “She’s not known for her tact or cleanliness, but she was a great roommate.”

“I know you don’t know me, and we didn’t exactly get off to a great start,” Willow babbled, “but I work hard, and I’m good at lots of stuff, and I think this is a great house, it just needs some wiring and carpentry and a little plumbing done, and you’d never even notice me around because I can be very quiet.” She blushed. “When I’m not talking, that is.”

Tara sat forward, amused at the ramblings of her newly found roommate. “Did you say plumbing?”


	3. Chapter 3

“So what did Liz have to say about her?” Drew pushed aside half a rack of shirts, knowing they were too large for him. He picked his way through seven different shades of blue.

Tara chewed on her bottom lip and let her eyes wander around the pricey store. She had never bought anything in J.Crew, and today would be no different. “I guess they worked together on some volunteer thing a few years ago.”

He pulled one from the rack, cobalt blue, pre-wrinkled, and held it up to his chest. His questioning look was met by a wrinkled nose on his friend’s face. “Volunteering is never good. Does she have a job?” He put the shirt back.

“It’s hard to tell,” Tara answered. “I think so.”

“You think so?”

She ran the tips of her fingers over a pile of soft sweaters. “I asked if she could cover the rent. She said yes.”

“Unemployed trust fund baby?” he joked. Three different shirts, each blue, accompanied him to the changing room. Tara leaned against the door frame and waited. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt to find out a few things about the kid.”

“She’s not a kid,” the blonde frowned at the closed door. “She’s twenty-something. And how exactly am I supposed to ask her about her job when I can’t explain my own?” She cringed at her own words. The dressing room door swung open, and Drew emerged in what Tara could have sworn he had been wearing when they walked in. “I should nickname you Picasso.”

He glanced down at the new shirt and back up into her face, a puzzled expression on his flawless skin. “I like blue,” he answered quietly. “And you like her.”

“What?” she did a double take as he slipped back behind the door. “What did you say?” she stood up on her toes to look over the top.

“You heard me. You like the girl.”

“I do not,” she sneered, realizing this was the same way twelve-year-olds fight. All the same, her heart picked up a new rhythm when he said it. “And don’t even think about trying to set us up. There are rules.” She blinked a few times to clear her vision.

Drew stepped out with two of the shirts draped over his arm. “You made those rules, Tara.” They walked up to the counter, and he dropped his selections down to be re-folded and packaged. “Don’t blame me if they’re inconvenient now.” He held his credit card out without looking at the skinny girl behind the desk. “Is she at least mildly attractive?”

“Ugh!” Tara growled at him and stomped out the door. 

She was halfway down Pine Street when Drew caught up to her. “Don’t be mad at me. I have a fragile constitution. I don’t handle rejection well.”

She tried to glare at him, but her smile ruined it. “I’m not,” she nudged him with her shoulder. “And, yes, she’s attractive.” She ducked her head and let her hair fall forward. “What am I gonna do?”

Drew stretched his free arm around her shoulders and matched his steps to hers as they walked toward Pike Place Market. “You’re gonna let her pay you rent and fix that house up while you work and go to school. And, if you’re very, very lucky, you’ll get to share a bag of mini donuts with me.” He picked up the pace and walked them into the main entrance to the market, stopping at the far end of the first walkway to buy a dozen cinnamon sugar mini donuts, Tara’s favorite.

She grabbed a hot one from the top of the bag, as did Drew, and they touched donuts like wine glasses. “It’s a plan.”

The morning had been so good. The room was finally rented, and Willow had paid her up front for two months. Bills were no longer the biggest worry on her mind. Drew had bought her donuts, they’d shopped like teenaged girls, though Tara didn’t buy anything, and lunch on the waterfront had been a relaxing escape from the real world. “Escape,” she mumbled, sitting in the waiting room of the upscale office in the Columbia Tower. She glanced out the window behind her. The street was seventy floors below. Even the Space Needle looked small from where she sat. A recent copy of Vanity Fair laid open in her lap, but Tara couldn’t concentrate enough to read anything. The secretary behind the large desk at the far end of the room answered the phone mechanically. “Drake and Son Attorneys at Law. How may I direct your call?” She wondered if her somewhat regular appointments with Mr. Drake had ever aroused any suspicion in the weekly board meetings she imagined took place in the large conference room down the hall. The secretary hung up the phone and glanced at Tara again. They both shifted in their seats and struggled to look elsewhere.

One of the large, black double doors quietly opened, and a tall, grey haired man from within stepped out. “Ah, Miss Maclay,” he smiled. “So good to see you again,” he extended his hand as he always did.

I’ll bet it is, she kept her thoughts to the back of her overactive mind. Tara stood and shook his hand, their routine no different than it had been for nearly a year now. “You as well, Mr. Drake. How is Gregory?” She had perfected her speech, her grammar, her posture, everything about herself for situations just as this.

The senior attorney chuckled in a rehearsed fashion. “He’s just fine. Angela?” he turned to the receptionist. “Hold my calls, please.” She nodded, though the suspicion in her eyes was far too obvious. “Shall we?” he nodded to Tara. She took his arm and accompanied him into the office.

The first thing she noticed when she walked through the front door was the scent of food cooking. She dropped her things and reached down to pick up the mail. “Bill, bill, bill…. Ooh. Catalog,” she sorted through the envelopes, dropping the bills on the table and taking the latest LL Bean catalog with her into the kitchen. There the smells intensified. Tara was transported back to her childhood by scents of roast beef and honeyed carrots. She sneaked a peak in the oven and was delighted to see a large roast steaming in its own juices.

“I hope you’re not a vegetarian,” a voice came from behind her. Tara snapped the oven door shut and spun to face her new roommate. “I figured you might be tired after a long day out. I hope you don’t mind.” Willow made her way to the sink and began washing the few dishes piled there.

“I-I, I mean, uh…” Tara stuttered, “I don’t mind at all. You cook?” She sat at the table and let her eyes wander over the redhead’s body. The girl’s slim waist was almost hidden under the ripped jeans that were a full size bigger than she needed.

“I cook,” Willow answered, her back to her audience. Tara watched her lift a set of plates and put them in a nearby cupboard, and she figured the young woman must be stronger than she looked. “Is there anything you don’t eat?”

“Coconut,” the blonde replied dumbly, suddenly realizing how captivated she was by this girl she didn’t know who was standing in her kitchen. Her mouth kept moving despite the fact that her brain was elsewhere. “There was an episode in my childhood. Bad Easter. Mom thought I was allergic to chocolate. It turned out to be homemade peeps with coconut that someone brought to a church potluck.”

Willow had finished cleaning up the kitchen and now sat at the table waiting for the oven timer to beep. She followed Tara’s words as though the conversation were far more serious. “Evil peeps,” she commented, not even a hint of a smile on her face. Tara nodded resolutely for a moment, then burst out laughing. Willow didn’t hesitate to join her. “Tell me about your day,” she said after they relaxed. Tara’s light mood went from joyful to solemn so fast that Willow almost felt the temperature in the room drop. “I mean, if you want to talk about it. Cuz you don’t have to talk about anything that you don’t want to.”

Tara held up a hand to slow the babble from the redhead’s mouth. “It’s fine. I’m sorry, I’m just a little burnt out right now.”

“Work?”

She breathed deeply, trying to control her antsy body language. “Work.”

Daring to inquire further, Willow leaned forward onto her elbows. “What do you do?”

Tara had no escape. She wanted to run out of the room and hide, but she also wanted to tell the truth. The lies she had constructed around her life were slowly poisoning her, but she needed them. She wouldn’t understand if she knew. She couldn’t possibly understand. “Um,” she started, hoping to restrain her falsehoods, “I’m a kind of consultant.”

Willow’s eyebrows raised. “Oh.” That was about all she could think to comment. She wracked her brain for something to keep the conversation going. “You work late.”

“Whatever the client wants,” Tara said before she could stop herself. Her face flushed pink, and she stood up to get a glass of water. “And you?”

“Um,” the voice behind her grew timid and weak. Tara turned and faced the girl who was just inches from where she leaned against the sink. “I don’t exactly… work at the moment…. Not like, in a job, as such.” Willow’s eyes wandered up the simple black dress, along the waistline and bodice, up to Tara’s graceful neckline. Everything about her was elegant. She blinked and looked up into the woman’s blue eyes.

Tara broke the silence by moving back to her favorite chair. “I hate to be a drag,” she smiled inwardly at the long ago memory of Drew in an evening gown, “but how are you planning on paying rent without a job?”

“No, it’s not like that,” Willow sat up straight. “I have money.”

Unable to help it, Tara broke out in the biggest smile she’d worn all day. “Drew so pegged you. You’ve got a trust fund.” Willow sat back and blinked. “Well,” she went on, “that’s better than…” she bit her tongue and paused. “It’s better than having a job you hate.”

The sound of wood scraping on tile brought Tara out of her bitterness, and she looked up to see the redhead standing over her. “I know it’s not my place to judge, and I don’t want to risk losing a place to live in the first twenty-four hours of being here,” she said firmly, “but maybe you should quit that job if you hate it so much. And just for the record,” she added, “I earned my money.” Tara watched her walk out the back door and into the garden.

“Smooth, Maclay. Smooth.”


	4. Chapter 4

“She gets up early in the morning, like really early. I’m talking four AM early. And then she’s gone by the time I realize it’s even light out, which it isn’t anymore this time of year,” Tara rolled her eyes at the grey sky in disgust. “But then she’s there whenever I come home in the afternoon. Or evening. And she cooks. Every night I come home to something cooking. I’m telling you, that house has never smelled so good.”

She paused for a moment to sip her mocha, so Drew took his chance when he could. “It looks good on you.”

“What does?” she panicked, visually searching herself top to bottom.

“Eating regularly,” he smiled. “Have you gotten up the guts to talk to her yet?”

Tara’s shoulders dropped. The sleeves of the burgundy sweater she had picked out that morning crept down her wrists and covered her hands. She absently pushed them back up. “Not so much. I feel awful about what I said.”

“So fix it.”

Her pumpkin scone looked less appetizing this morning than it had in weeks. She adored them. She craved them. Her fingers pushed the scone around on the plate that was too small for the huge pastry. “These were better when you could only get them in October,” she mused. Her eyes lifted. “Okay, I’ll bite. How do I fix it?”

Drew beamed with confidence. “Ask her out.”

“Are you crazy?” Tara half whispered, half yelled. “I can’t ask her out!”

“Easy, tiger,” he held up his hands, pleased at the reaction he’d gotten. “Just ask her out as a friend. There’s this-“

“Drew,” she interrupted him, “no. I’m not asking her out. That’s not what this is,” she stared at him firmly. “I just want things to be okay between us as roommates.”

He sighed dramatically and brushed a stray curl of hair out of his eyes. “How about you just try being yourself for a while?” he suggested delicately. “You know, Tara, you’re an amazing woman.” She blushed noticeably at the compliment. “She would have to be crazy to miss that. And anyone would be crazy if they didn’t want to be your friend. Give her a chance.”

“Hey, Tara,” Willow began. “You know, I didn’t mean to snap at you the other night. I just…. No, no good,” she shook her head and readjusted her position on the floor. “Hi, Tara,” she tried again. “How was your day?” She put down the wrench and picked up the flat-head screwdriver. “Oh, right, that’s the job you hate, the mystery career you never talk about.” She sighed and let her head fall back to the towel she was laying on under the sink. The edge of the vanity dug into her back painfully, but Willow continued to stare up at the pipes over her face. “So, Tara, maybe you’d like to go out for coffee sometime?” she attempted another conversation starter. “Right, Rosenberg. Like you could ever get a date with a girl like that.” Her hands searched for the pipe wrench. “She’s probably got a boyfriend anyway,” she mumbled as the pipe groaned under the pressure of being reattached. “She’s gorgeous, you’re awkward. She wears beautiful dresses, you wear overalls. Face it. She’d never be interested. She’s got plans tonight, anyway.”

“Actually,” a second voice joined in, “I don’t.” Willow’s head jerked up and slammed into the drainpipe with a loud ‘thunk.’ She slid out from inside the vanity with one hand on her forehead. Tara smiled down at her from the doorway to the bathroom. “Sorry…”

“It’s no big deal,” Willow slowly sat up, still rubbing the bump that was forming on her brow. “The pain makes the embarrassment feel a little smaller.” She struggled to meet the other woman’s eyes. “You heard the whole rambling session.”

“Enough,” Tara grinned. She reached out a hand and pulled her roommate to her feet, then led her out into the living room. “Maybe this will help.” A pizza box rested on the edge of the coffee table, next to which sat two cold bottles of beer. “I don’t actually know if you drink beer,” she made her way to the couch and sat down, hoping that Willow would join her.

“You,” the redhead slowly walked forward, “you took the night off?” She sat down and picked up her drink. Her head still spun from having held the other woman’s hand. Her touch had been so soft, so delicate.

Tara smiled. “You could say that.” She straightened and cleared her throat nervously. “I wanted to apologize.” Willow turned to face her, equally anxious. “What I said the other night… it was awful.” 

“No,” Willow tried to argue. “It wasn’t. It was…” she paused, thinking of the words. She looked into Tara’s eyes, and they both smiled in an uncomfortable way. “Okay, so it was kind of rude.” She brushed the hair back from her face, and Tara watched her fingers tuck a stray strand of red hair behind her right ear. 

“Well I wanted to make it up to you,” Tara turned and picked up the remote control, switching the television on, “so I got pizza and movies.” She pushed the PLAY button on the DVD remote, and the screen came to life. “I thought m-maybe we could spend a little t-time together,” she fought her stuttering, “and get to know each other.”

Willow took a slice of pizza and sat back, inwardly grinning at how Tara chose to cook dinner. “What are we watching?”

“It’s the first Thin Man movie. Do you like black and white movies?” the blonde shifted nervously.

“I do,” her roommate replied. She kicked off her shoes and curled her legs up under herself. “So,” she spared a glance at the girl on the other end of the couch, “tell me about yourself.”

Tara considered her answer for a good while, not sure where to begin and what to omit. Her eyes remained on the dashing forms of Nick and Nora Charles as she began to speak. “This was my grandparents’ house. My mom was born here. She split from my father when I was little, so it was mostly just me and Mom and my brother, Donny.” Her eyebrows furrowed as she thought of him. “He got the house when she died. He and his friends trashed it,” she shrugged, looking around at all that she had attempted to fix and restore over the years, “and it eventually got taken from him by the bank. I had just started college that year. It took everything I had, but I bought it.”

“So you work all those long hours to pay back the loan?” Willow asked.

Tara turned toward her, her eyes slightly moist. “Partly, yes. I used all of the money in my college fund for the down-payment, so that meant I had to come up with the rest every quarter.”

“What are you studying?” Willow carefully hid her pizza crust in the paper napkin in her lap.

“Um, it’s sort of a liberal arts degree,” Tara tried to explain. “I’m a wr-writer,” her voice squeaked, as though the thought of admitting her future career was the most terrifying event in her day. Much to her relief, the redhead smiled. “How about you?”

“Oh,” Willow’s expression darkened. “I, uh… I’ve done a few things here and there. College wasn’t really for me, I guess. I tried,” she explained, “but I don’t have the patience.”

“I see,” Tara nodded. “Are you originally from Seattle?”

“No, I moved here a few years ago. I grew up in the Midwest. I needed a change of scenery. Cornfields and tornadoes get to be so miserable after a long time.”

“You should meet Drew,” Tara reached for the pizza box and opened it for both of them to grab another slice. “He’s my best friend,” she answered the question on Willow’s face. “He grew up in Illinois and used to hitchhike up to Chicago as a kid just to get away from the cows and pigs,” she giggled. “I can’t imagine him living in the country now. He’s a true city boy.”

“Like best friend, best friend? Or… boyfriend, best friend?” Willow looked intently at the television, terrified to hope.

Tara laughed and almost choked on the mouthful of beer. “Oh, no, more like, gay as fuck best friend.” The grin on her face was infectious, and Willow smiled back at her. “I don’t-” Tara checked herself mentally, realizing what she was about to say.

“You don’t?” Willow looked at her expectantly. “No boyfriend… or, anything?” She wanted it to sound so casual, but she couldn’t hide the eagerness in her voice. After the plumbing incident, she knew her cards were well enough on the table.

“I, uh,” Tara shifted on the couch, drawing away from the closeness that was developing. “I don’t really do relationships.” She tried a half smile to keep things light, but she could see the disappointment in Willow’s nod. “You know,” she thought back to her conversation with her best friend earlier that day, “Drew’s having a get-together at his place next weekend… if you w-wanna…”

“I’d love to,” Willow answered a little too quickly. She sat back and tried to control her babbling mouth. “It’s nice to spend time with you, Tara.” Tara nearly beamed, then ducked her head, mortified at her reaction.


	5. Chapter 5

The sunrise behind the Cascade mountain range burst with gold and orange and red over the winding river valley below it. The mountains themselves were hazy shadows, purple and blue and shifting with the fog that had settled in overnight. Willow let the scene distract her with glances every few seconds as she drove down Union Hill Road and into the furthest eastern reaches of the county. She passed the still forms of cows sleeping in the long grass and horses drifting from their barns out into the open fields, still heavy with dew. She shifted back into fourth gear and let her hand wander to the mug of tea at her side. The hot liquid nearly scalded her throat, but she continued to sip as the rolling hills passed under her tires. As she rounded the next corner, she downshifted into third, pulling the steering wheel hard to the right. A giddy smile broke across her tired face as the car bit into the roadway and inertia grounded her in the bucket seat. The road straightened, and she shifted into fifth gear, skipping fourth entirely. There weren’t many roads like this anymore, she mused, silently taking in the gorgeous morning as it opened around her. Someday she would drive through this same path, and it would be flanked by houses and condos on each side. Her heart ached at the thought.

Willow signaled left and turned onto a main roadway, slowing as she approached the town of Duvall. She brought the sporty car up to the sidewalk and into her usual morning parking space, knowing she wouldn’t have to lock the doors while she had breakfast in the tiny café. The tinkle of a bell overhead sounded as she passed through the front door. “Morning, Beth,” she nodded at the girl behind the counter.

“The usual?” the girl asked. Willow nodded. 

She turned to the left and looked for her typical seat at the booth in the corner. A man and woman, both middle-aged, both wearing flannel shirts and barn coats, turned to her and smiled. “Mornin’, Will,” the woman called out, patting the seat beside her. “Did you enjoy sleeping in?”

Willow got comfortable in the booth and thanked Beth when a steaming tea latte found its way to the table in front of her. “It was great. I haven’t slept past four all summer long. How are the girls?”

“Aw, they’re up to no good, as usual,” the man replied, chuckling warmly. The beginning of a beard was working its way across his youthful face, and the stray brown hairs in front of his ears curled tightly. “But you know how chickens are. They’ll be ready to set up in the coop in no time.”

“How’s the new place working out?” the woman beside her asked.

Willow sat back as a tray of piping hot breakfast plates came out of the kitchen and were handed around the table. She could have sworn that Beth winked at her as she had leaned over to pass hash browns to the other woman, and she watched the young girl swish her hips back behind the counter to greet a group of stoic farmers who had just come in. “Oh, it’s great, Luna,” Willow turned her attention back to her own table. “You’d love it. It’s an old craftsman with all the original trim and five panel doors, and my roommate…” her voice softened as she thought back on the wonderful night spent on the couch with Tara.

“Oh, really?” Luna grinned ear to ear and playfully bumped Willow’s shoulder with her own.

“No, not really,” Willow smiled back, aware that the rise in temperature in the café was only felt by her. “She’s very nice, though. It’ll be a great place for me.”

“We’re very happy for you, Willow,” Luna reached for the pot of coffee at the edge of the table and refilled her chipped diner mug. “Bengt and I are gonna miss you like crazy, though.” The man across from her nodded quietly. “I don’t think we’ll find anyone like you again.”

Though she was flattered by their kind words, a fluttering in her chest reminded Willow of her anxieties. “It’s a big step for me,” she started, “but I know it’s the right time. I can’t thank you two enough for all you’ve taught me.” She reached out and took each of their hands.

“Have you found the right place yet?” Bengt motioned for her to eat and relax. They gathered like this a couple of times a year, putting aside the work and planning for the future, and Willow looked forward to it with the turn of each season. Luna’s plans were always bigger than they would be able to fulfill, and Bengt always listened in his quiet, Swedish way, nodding at the ideas he liked, frowning when he knew the work wouldn’t pan out. Willow had come to love the couple as though she were truly a part of their own little family. Her heart ached a little at the prospect of the coming spring without them.

“No, but it’ll find me if I don’t find it first.” She met his gaze and knew that he would miss her as much as Luna would, though he would never say the words. “I haven’t done all this work for nothing.” She dug into the steaming pile of pancakes on her plate. “When are you two going to put out the word for my old job?”

Luna stole a sausage link from her husband’s plate and dipped it in her maple syrup before downing it in one bite. “We’re already looking. It seems like it gets harder every year to find interns and volunteers, let alone trained farm managers.” She sighed heavily and sank back into the vinyl bench cushion. “You want some advice?” she raised her eyebrows at the girl beside her. “Don’t buy anything bigger than twenty acres. It’s too damn much to manage on your own.”

Willow laughed. “I’ll be lucky to get five.”

“It’s not just the land, Will,” Luna leaned closer. “Don’t go for this on your own if you can help it.” She glanced at Bengt and her lips curled into the kind of smile that only ten years of marriage can understand. “It gets lonely out there.”

Tara groaned and opened her eyes to the light streaming in through the window above her bed. Her neck was sore from sleeping in an odd position, and her right arm tingled from having been under her chest too long. She rolled to the right and grabbed the alarm clock on the bedside table. Seven thirty-four. She let the clock drop and rolled back over onto her pillow. The previous night on the couch with Willow had been the best she’d had in a long time. They had watched two movies and stayed up late into the night, each telling stories from childhood and their young adult years until they noticed how late it had become. Six hours later, Tara lay on her back, staring at the ceiling over her bed. Her heart thundered in her chest, and her skin alternated between cold and flushed. She couldn’t get the redhead out of her mind. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on anything else, but images of Willow’s beautiful smile and silly antics were all she could see. 

Frustrated and sore, Tara rolled out of her bed and grabbed her favorite bunny slippers. She shuffled down the short hall to the downstairs bathroom and closed the door behind her. Mechanically, she reached forward to the tap for the bath and began to run hot water for a long soak. A sharp spray of cold water hit her squarely in the right eye, making her jump a foot in the air, howling and grabbing at her face. “God-fucking-dammit!” she growled, belatedly recalling the plumbing leak that Liz had discovered. She kicked the faucet with one of the bunny slippers and shouted at the sudden pain, though the flow of water had been stopped. Hopping on one foot to the toilet, she sat on the lid and rested her bruised foot on the opposing knee. “Is a bath too much to fucking ask for?” she yelled at the house. Tears nagged at the back of her eyes, and she let her head fall forward into her hands. “I just want something to go right for me.” 

A buzzing sound far away brought her head sharply up. Her phone was ringing. Tara picked herself up and half ran, half limped back to the bedroom. Her phone was vibrating on the bedside table. “Hello?” she answered. “William,” she pretended to smile. “How are you?” The voice on the other end talked for a moment, and Tara nodded as he went on. “Next Saturday? Well, I…” She stopped and listened again. “N-no, I wouldn’t like that,” her brow furrowed as his message sank in. “I d-don’t really…” The other voice grew louder. “Of c-course I understand, William.” He spoke again, and she sat on the end of the bed, her shoulders sagging under the weight of the conversation. “Eleven o’clock,” she repeated. “Pi Kappa Alpha house.” She dropped the phone into her lap and stared at the wall on the far side of the room.

“Hello?” a strained voice called from the backdoor. Burdened with a load of boxes and bags, Willow made her way into the kitchen. She absently wondered if life really would be easier if there were someone else, someone to open the door for you when you come in from the car with your arms full. She grunted with the effort of piling everything up on the scratched wooden table in the center of the room, then slowly began to unpack. The last tomatoes of the season rolled dangerously close to the edge of the table, a heap of winter squash gathered in the corner by the sink, and onions, desperate to be braided together, were thrown in the square basket beside the refrigerator. Willow looked around at the substantial harvest and smiled, but her eyes didn’t sparkle. “You look good,” she picked up the stray tomato who tried to escape, “but I’ll miss you once you’re gone. It’s gonna be a long winter. Now,” she changed gears, “what’s for dinner?” Her hands worked quickly, chopping vegetables, peeling potatoes, carefully separating fat from meat. Willow frequently found herself in a world of her own when she cooked, and the old kitchen around her fit her needs perfectly. A little extra light wouldn’t hurt, she considered quietly as she rinsed the cutting board in the old double sink. I wonder if Tara’s thought about updating in here. Willow searched through the cupboards for the right sized baking dish, then tried to close the door. It stuck and creaked, and she realized that she would have to close the right and left doors together if she wanted them closed at all. Her lips quirked into a half smile. “Old house,” she whispered. Her fingers lingered on the aged brass drawer pulls and hinges. “Sometimes there just isn’t enough love to go around.” Willow’s mind suddenly jumped to the image of Tara sitting on the couch beside her. Her heart thumped loudly in her chest, and her hands went to the countertop to steady herself. “Get a grip, Rosenberg. It’s not what you think.” Willow glanced up at the clock over the window which overlooked the backyard. It was already four o’clock. “It’s never what you think.”

“Psst!” Drew hissed from behind Tara in the lecture hall. He leaned forward until his breath tickled her ear. “Did you apply for that editing internship they posted?” Tara sighed and shook her head slowly. Drew made a funny sound in his throat, then sat back and began furiously scratching something on a scrap of paper. He tore it from the notebook and dropped it over her shoulder. Tara smoothed it with her fingers and read his choppy writing. “Your the best person for that job. I’ll apply for you if I gotta.” She smiled but couldn’t resist correcting his horrid grammar. Her pencil changed the “your” into “you’re,” and she wrote her reply in the margin.

Drew narrowed his eyes on her neat penmanship, “If I let you apply for me I’ll be lucky to get an internship in the mail department.” He grinned and settled back in his seat, confident that he knew Tara like no one else ever could. The professor made his final plea for chapters to be read for next week’s lecture as everyone gathered their notes and bags and left the hall. “The deadline is Thursday,” he spoke in full volume. 

Tara continued to sit with her back to her friend. “I don’t know, Drew. It doesn’t pay that much…”

“You’ve got a roommate now, sweetie,” he hopped over the back of the line of seats and stood next to her.

“She’s been in the house for a week.” Tara’s eyes glared up at him, but she felt a smile nagging at her lips. Drew’s enthusiasm was infectious. “I’d do it if I thought I could make ends meet.” She stood and threw her belongings into her bag.

Drew grabbed the other end of the strap on her bag and pulled her gaze up to meet his. “Just apply. We’ll work out the details once you get the job.” He bounced a little as his eyes bore into hers.

Tara tried to avert her gaze, but Drew followed her wherever she went, bending his spine in the way that only someone in their 20’s can do. She sighed and perched on one foot. “Okay,” she chewed on her bottom lip. “I’ll apply.”


	6. Chapter 6

Tara sat nervously at the end of a long row of lobby chairs that were fastened together. They reminded her of the time she went for a plane ride with her mother when she was nine. She had been tired between flights, and her mother had made a pillow out of her coat, urging the little girl to lay down on the connected chairs in the huge, echoing terminal. Tara remembered her mother smiling down at her with a halo of florescent lights behind her wavy, blonde hair, one eye bruised and swelling more with every passing hour. Fifteen years later, Tara sat by herself and rubbed the shoulder her own father had dislocated that same night so long before.

The receptionist smiled whenever Tara glanced her way. She’s seen a hundred nervous college students sit here. I’m no different. Tara let her eyes wander around the lobby. Framed headlines and articles rested proudly under glass along the east wall, protected from the western sunset by the reflective tint of the floor to ceiling windows which overlooked the viaduct and Puget Sound behind it. Tara had stared at this building a thousand times from the outside. She had never dreamt she’d make it inside.

“Miss Maclay?” the receptionist spoke suddenly, bringing Tara back to the present, back to the inside of the Seattle Post Intelligencer building, back to the interview she had been craving, dreading. “Mr. Stallman will see you now.”

Clearing her throat and keeping her hands from wandering up to check her hair, Tara stood and gathered her notebook and calendar. She walked confidently to the glass door at the end of the hall and gazed inside. I’ve done this a thousand times. More than a thousand, she mused. Attorneys don’t scare me. CEOs don’t scare me. Professors don’t scare me. She willed her hand to push the door open, but it stayed limp at her side. But a job interview has me shitting bricks. 

Tara pushed her body into the door awkwardly. It thumped loudly, and she stumbled as it gave way under her shoulder. An older man in brown corduroys and a red check shirt turned in his chair and smiled warmly at the clumsy girl in his doorway. He stood and extended his hand. “You must be Tara.” She took his hand and nodded. “I’m George. Have a seat,” he indicated the chair on the other side of his large, L shaped desk. “Can I get you something to drink?” He jerked his right thumb at a tired looking espresso machine in the corner behind him.

“N-no, thank you,” Tara managed to say as she sat in the padded chair.

“Good choice,” he chuckled. “I can’t make anything but an Americano anyway.” Tara smiled back, allowing herself to relax a little. George seemed nice. He was clean-shaven, but what was left of his hair was going gray, and it was clearly not a concern to the man. Tara imagined him with a heap of grandchildren in his lap at Thanksgiving dinner. “So, you’ve decided you want to be a copy editor.”

“Well,” Tara’s eyebrows furrowed, “not exactly.” George sat forward, not having heard that response from any of the previous interviewees. “I’m a writer at heart,” she explained. “But you can’t write without editing.”

“Tell me about your inspiration,” the man across from her leaned back and folded his hands in his lap.

“Oh,” Tara panicked. She wasn’t prepared to talk about that. “I, uh… I write everything. I did some travelling when I was younger...” She didn’t mean to disclose anything personal, but she felt that that was precisely what he wanted her to say. “I hitch hiked.” She felt her hands go cold and wrapped them up in her scarf as she talked. Her mind drifted to nights of lost sleep, the many times she had been in a dangerous setting surrounded by people she didn’t trust, riding in strange vehicles through the night to places she didn’t recognize. “I had some….” she struggled for the right words to explain, “some instability when I was younger.”

He leaned forward and wrote a few lines on the tablet on his desk. “You know, I grew up on Vashon Island, and we just hitch hiked everywhere out there.” He chuckled. “I had no idea it was dangerous at all in other places. I was so sheltered.”

“Well, it’s cheaper than paying to travel,” she said before she could catch her own tongue. Tara gulped and stared wide-eyed at the editor-in-chief. “I mean-”

“No,” he held up a hand and smiled broadly, “that makes sense. And,” he cleared his throat, “instability and hard times can be rough to go through, but they build something in you that’s unique.” He sat back and pulled at the edges of his sweater. “Look, Tara, I’ll be honest about this job. It’s not fun. It’s a lot of work, long hours, and getting pushed around by everyone who did the same thing when they were in school. But once you’re in, you’re in.” He said the last two words slowly, eyeing her hard. “Nine out of ten interns get job offers.” Tara swallowed and tried not to get excited. “That said,” he softened, “it’s only a year. If you can tough out a year here, you can do anything.” His brown eyes were so kind, she began to think he was sincere. “What’s the hardest thing you’ve ever been through?”

Tara stared blankly at him. “The hardest thing?” He nodded, waiting patiently for her answer. Tara squeezed her eyes shut and blurted out, “My mother died when I was twelve.” When she opened her right eyelid, she saw him considering her words, and the silence between them begged to be filled. “I was devastated, and I didn’t know what to do without her. So I ran away.” She clenched her fists at the memory. “I got caught a few times, and I always ended up in some foster care house with a dozen other kids who were more messed up than I would let myself be,” the words began to pour from within her. George adjusted his position in the large office chair and listened. “I took off every time. I learned that I was better on my own.”

Leaning forward to glance at her application, George’s eyebrows raised sharply. “This says you’ve been at the top of your class since freshman year at the UW. What on earth possessed you to attend college on your own?”

Tara relaxed her hands in her lap. “My mother had always wanted to go, and she told me all the time how proud she’d be of me someday when I went to college.” She looked up at him with a serious expression. “I couldn’t let her down.”

The editor ran his fingers over his lips slowly, taking in everything. “Can you work with others?”

“Absolutely.”

“What happens if you don’t like them? What if you don’t agree with what they want?”

Tara took a deep breath. “If you’re asking me if I can simply shut up and take it, the answer is yes.”

“Willow?” Tara called out from the hallway as she closed the front door with her foot. It slammed, and she flinched.

“In the kitchen!” she heard the response.

Tara kicked off her shoes and reached down to pick up the mail. She stared at the floor for a moment, wondering if it was a holiday. There was nothing there. She shrugged her shoulders and wandered into the kitchen. “Whatever it is, it smells delicious.”

Willow smiled when she saw the blonde in the doorway. They were starting to settle into a comfortable routine. She would cook, Tara would come in with a hopeful look every evening, they would talk around the table until neither could stop yawning, and then they would part for the night. “It’s lamb stew.”

“Lamb?” Tara dropped into a chair and looked up with sad eyes. “As in baby sheeps?” She noticed the mail was neatly stacked on the corner of the table where she always sat. Willow had sorted the pile into bills, junk mail, and catalogs, which rested on top. She took the Restoration Hardware fall catalog and began thumbing through the pictures of knobs, drawer pulls, and overpriced furniture.

“I think you’ll get over the baby sheep factor,” her roommate grinned as she went back to stirring the large pot on the stove. She bent over slightly and cracked the oven door open, taking a quick peek at the loaf of homemade bread baking inside. “How was your day?”

Tara sighed noisily and let the catalog fall to the table. “Really long. I think my interview went well, though.”

“Interview?” Willow brought a bottle of wine over and poured two glasses.

“Sorry, I forgot I hadn’t mentioned it.” Tara leaned forward on her elbows, resting her chin in her right hand. “I applied for an internship as a copy editor at the Seattle P-I. My interview was today.”

Picking up her glass and nodding for the blonde to do the same, Willow made a toast. “To a new job!” she said with a smile. They touched glasses and sipped the deep red zinfandel. “Are you excited?”

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” she admitted. “There’s no way I’ve got this, though.”

Willow watched her avert her eyes in a self-deprecating way. Tara’s hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, and a few strands of the dark blonde hair beside the scrunchie had found their way out, drifting aimlessly over her right ear. She thought about reaching out to brush them back but decided instead to clench her fist under the table. “Sure you do,” she answered. “You said the interview went well.”

Tara turned back and smiled faintly. “I think it did,” her voice trailed off. “I just…” she stopped and shook her head, as though her thoughts were ridiculous. Willow caught her eye, and she tilted her head warmly, silently asking Tara to continue. She sighed and played with her wine glass. “This would be such a good change for me. I wouldn’t make very much money…. but I’d be happy for a change.”

Nodding resolutely, Willow pushed her chair back and stood, making a beeline for the phone on the kitchen wall. “Then I’ll just have to call the newspaper and tell them to hire you-”

“No!” Tara screamed, jumping up to grab Willow’s arm. She tumbled into the redhead slightly, bumping her against the wall as they laughed. They looked at one another for a beat, then realized they were still touching. Tara’s hand trembled where it touched Willow’s wrist. She cleared her throat self-consciously, then drifted over to the sink under the pretense of washing dishes. She stalled when she saw that the sink was empty. “Oh.”

“I, uh,” Willow cleared her throat. “I just, um…” I just cleaned everything in the house so that we could spend more time together? She bit her lip and tried to think of what to say. “I didn’t think you’d mind if I washed up early tonight.”

“I don’t,” Tara turned and walked back to her chair, taking the wine and sitting once more. “I’m just not used to having the best roommate in the world. Let’s be honest,” she looked Willow in the eye, “you cook, you clean, you fix things, you organize the mail, you…” she faltered. You take care of me. “You even watch old movies with me.” She felt the room heat up and took a long sip of wine. “I… I’m glad you’re here.”

Willow smiled with abandon. “So am I.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Stop fidgeting,” Tara snapped. She tried to look stern, but a smile crept over her face as she glanced at Willow, whose left hand rested in her own.

“You have sharp things,” Willow argued.

“Beauty hurts sometimes,” she responded, thinking absently that her own mother had said that to her at some point. She snipped the cuticle again, and Willow jumped a little. “Have you never had a manicure?”

Willow took a deep breath. “It’s not really my thing, no.” She tried not to focus on what Tara must think about her definition of ‘self-care’ by the state of her nails. “But I get the concept. It’s like sharpening garden tools. File down the rough stuff, scrape off the rust…”

“Are you rusty?” Tara joked. She smiled as she worked, pulling out the nail file to take off the rough edges of the girl’s fingernails. ‘Keep working,’ she told herself. ‘You’re holding her hands, and you get to be close. That’s good enough.’ Her heart beat in such a rapid pattern that she swore Willow could feel it through her skin. The days since this amazing woman had moved into her life were starting to blur together, and Tara couldn’t help but ask for more. More laughter, more fun together, more possibilities that Willow would want to be closer.

Willow tried not to flinch at the word rusty. Was Tara asking about something totally different? She was trying so hard not to read more into their conversations than what was on the surface, but sometimes she could simply swear that Tara was into her. Should she be rusty? It’s not like there had been any other women in her life in a very long time. Maybe rusty was a good thing. She was just about to find something funny to say when Tara clipped her skin again. “Ow!”

“Ooh!” Tara drew her hand back, “I’m sorry.” 

“Apparently I’m rustier than I realized,” Willow mumbled. She reached out for Tara’s hand again, letting herself relax into her soft grip. 

“Rusty isn’t a bad thing,” Tara smiled, then ducked her head and went back to work. “Nothing is broken.” Her hands worked steadily, filing, turning, and holding the other woman’s hand so gently that Willow was willing to put up with a lot of pain to stay where she was. “Just some rough edges.”

“You think I have rough edges?” Willow let the words out before she could stop them. She didn’t intend to sound pathetic, but there was nothing to prevent it now.

Tara stopped and looked up, clearly worried that she had offended her new friend. She ran the edge of Willow’s ring fingernail along the palm of her hand, guiding it back and forth. They could both feel the rough, uneven edge of the nail, but the contact elicited other feelings, too. She blinked rapidly and stopped to look for a different tool. “I won’t paint you some ridiculous color.” She went back to holding Willow’s hand delicately again. “Just a little pampering,” she looked up for a beat, enough to see Willow smile back.

She worked quietly for a few minutes. Willow focused on her breathing, keeping things steady and even while the gorgeous woman held her hand. This wasn’t the sort of thing she was used to. She’d spent so much time being isolated that she almost wondered if all of her social cues were backwards. She had heard Tara say “no relationships,” but everything about the way she moved and looked at her said she was interested in more than just being friends. Wasn’t a manicure just another way to bring them closer together? ‘Make easy conversation,’ she told herself. “Do you like music?”

Blue eyes glanced up. She smiled warmly. “Yeah.”

‘So she’s suddenly not wordy,’ Willow battled internally. ‘I swear she’s playing coy. Or,’ she worried, ‘maybe this is what straight girls do when they do this manicure thing.’ Her eyebrows scrunched up with the effort. “What’s your favorite?”

“Julie London. Ella Fitzgerald. Etta James.” Tara brushed her hair back over her ear. “Billie Holiday has the sexiest voice ever.”

Willow tried hard to come up with anything about those names, but she could barely grasp the era involved. This was one topic she regretted instantly. “Right, I know,” she tried to sound convincing. “He’s amazing.”

Tara snorted loudly and had to duck behind her hand to cover up the sudden laughter. “You, um,” she tried to contain herself, “wanna listen to some?” She hopped up and walked over to the old shelf stereo on the bookcase, knowing the disc she wanted was still in the player. She hit play, sat down, and started to hum along to All of Me while Billie crooned into the microphone from 1941. After a few minutes of basking in the glow of Willow’s blushing embarrassment, she spoke up, “Jazz and blues aren’t for everyone. What do you like to listen to?” Her hands continued to work steadily and with precision over the nails in her grasp. 

“I think I have enough regret for that topic already,” Willow confessed. She hadn’t expected to like the music as much as she did, and it helped that Tara wasn’t laughing at her too much. “There’s clearly no need to punish me further.”

Tara shifted her gaze up to look through her own hair at the blushing redhead. “It’s so punishing to spend t-time with me, is it?” The unexpected stutter caught her off guard and forced her eyes back down to the nail file. Julie London interrupted her thoughts with her smooth voice.

“Now you say you’re sorry, for being so untrue. Well, you can cry me a river, cry me a river. I cried a river over you.”

“I would drop everything to spend time with you,” Willow answered. Tara tilted her head back and met the other woman’s eyes, willing to keep her face up despite her nerves. “You know I don’t care about my nails getting done,” Willow admitted. She cleared her throat and broke eye contact for a moment. “Radiohead, the Sundays, Vampire Weekend, Alt-J, Deep Sea Diver, the Shins.” She shrugged and looked back into the blue eyes next to her. “Not as cool as vintage music and black and white movies.”

“You don’t think you’re cool?”

“Me?” Willow sat up straighter, laughing. “Oh, no. I’m a geek. Totally not cool. Just a big, geeky nerd. That’s me.”

Tara smiled back and clutched her hand affectionately without realizing it. “Geeky can be cool.” She rubbed her thumb along Willow’s finger. “Nerds are hot.” She stopped and dropped Willow’s hand as soon as she felt the tension building between them. 

“Well what’s the point of your rules if you’re just going to flirt mercilessly with her?!” Drew threw his arms up in the air, clearly exasperated. 

“I don’t know!” Tara yelled back at him, letting herself get truly upset for once. She was so bottled up that it felt good to lash out, and she knew he would always forgive her. “She’s just so… so-” Tara put her hands on the solid stone counter and closed her eyes in frustration. “It’s like all of my stupidest, most honest thoughts fall out of my mouth when I’m around her.” Drew smirked and snorted a little. She sat down abruptly on the counter height stool. Her most reliable friend in the world set the espresso cup into its tiny saucer and slid them across the kitchen island to her. The top had a perfectly formed crema, and her mouth watered at the scent of the bold, dark drink in front of her. “I only have a few more minutes for us to bicker like the Golden Girls before I have to go.” She checked the time on the wall clock again. 

“Cancel,” Drew suggested. “I’ll cover you.”

“You know I can’t.”

“You should.”

She tipped the espresso cup back and drank it in one go. “But I won’t.”

“You mystify me,” he shook his head at her and picked up his own espresso cup. “You don’t see any kind of conflict of interest happening here?”

“Fuck you,” she laughed. “Isn’t that the whole point of this argument?”

“I just think,” he went on, “that maybe this is exactly the kind of interruption your life needed.”

“So true,” she laughed at him. “Because I really needed a crush to add to my list of problems.”

“It’s like you can read my mind,” he relaxed back against the counter and grinned. “Isn’t this event slightly impacting your… ability to work?” Tara’s face went dark. He had hit a nerve, and it hurt. “Shit, I’m sorry.” He hustled around the counter and grabbed her into a quick hug. “Just being my usual insensitive, privileged, white male asshole self, you know.” Tara leaned into him and let him comfort her. “I really am sorry.”

“You’re right, though.” She leaned back and looked up into his warm face. “It feels like I’m betraying her, and we’re not even…” She lifted her hands and let them drop, unsure of how to express the complexity of her emotions about Willow. She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “I have to go.” She draped her coat over her arm and checked the light makeup she had on in his hall mirror. “Talk tonight?”

“Of course,” he smiled at her, wrapping his arms around himself, completely useless to fix anything in her life. She closed the door behind herself and walked out into the worst part of her life again, all of her emotional armor fully intact for the afternoon ahead of her.

Willow pulled the flashlight out of her back pocket once she had reached the top of the folding staircase that led to the attic. She let its light drift around the space, suddenly in awe at how much untapped potential lay around her. The floor was fully covered in plywood subflooring, as though someone from the past had intended to convert this into useable space. Turning right, she noticed a light switch at the top of a rafter. She flipped it on and three light bulbs along the roofline lit the space far better than the flashlight had done. Willow pocketed the tool and began rummaging around in the boxes. She wasn’t really intending to snoop. This was supposed to be a wiring mission, but it was easy to get sidetracked with all of this interesting stuff within arm’s reach.

The first box was a collection of Tara’s old clothes. This was followed by a box of stuffed animals and some tokens of what must have been her childhood or her brother’s. Willow felt the softness of the stuffed bunny and the baby blanket, but another box caught her eye. It looked like it contained some photo albums. She sat down in the dust and pushed the lid back, opening the first album. Pictures of a very young Tara smiled up at her. She flipped through the pages, entranced with how Tara and her mother were so close in so many photos. There wasn’t nearly as much of anyone else in the photobook. Willow noticed a sadness in Tara’s mother’s eyes in many of the photos, and then she was absent from the later ones. 

Willow’s mind drifted back to her own family, to the pictures she had grown up with, to the memories of when things had been good. She shook her head and frowned at herself. ‘Don’t exaggerate the good times,’ she chastised herself. She flipped through another book, and suddenly she realized that there were no pictures of Tara after her pe-teen years. She had been hoping for some awkward teenage shots of the beautiful girl. Maybe she skipped that awkward stage entirely and just grew into pure beauty overnight. Willow smiled at the thought. 

She put the binders back, closed up the box, and went back to her original task of looking for the junction box she knew had to be hidden up there. She found one that looked promising and set to work unscrewing the cover plate. “She likes your cooking, she won’t make eye contact at the end of the night.” She moved the cover plate aside and pulled out the current tester. It beeped loudly on the black wire, as she expected, but it also beeped on the white one. That should be neutral, no charge. “She thinks you’re rusty, but she wants to hold your hand.” Willow pulled up the bound together bare wires. Bare copper was the ground wire. She tried that one, and it was hot as well. “Fuck,” she swore. This was definitely a root cause of the lights not working upstairs.

Willow adjusted her position on the subflooring and used the flashlight to pick through the wires so that she could see which one was the supply line. Of course they weren’t labelled. “Her best friend is flaming gay, but she dresses like a straight girl.” She touched a wire to nudge it aside and got a tingly zap. “Ow!” she pulled her hand back and put her finger in her mouth. “I swear to god, this house is just like her. You want me to fix you,” she shouted at the old building, “but you keep biting me when I try!” 

She pushed and pulled more until she could see the fabric covered line protruding from the back of the junction box. “Ooh,” she breathed slowly. “Romex tied into a supply line from knob and tube? Holy shit.” She swept the hair out of her eyes while she thought and talked through the problem. “Not legal, clearly not functional, but eliminating K and T is virtually impossible without knocking down all the walls.” In frustration, she yanked the white bundle of wires out of the junction box to see what was happening underneath. The force of her tugging yanked the cap off of them, one of them slipped from the group and tapped the exposed end of the black wire next to it, a pop sounded, sparks flew, and everything went dark. “Absolutely brilliant, Rosenberg. You are truly the master of all that you survey.”


	8. Chapter 8

Tara sat at the computer and stared at her mailbox. Nothing. She moved the mouse and clicked on her internet browser. The daily news headlines loaded in bright colors on the screen, distracting her eyes but not her brain. The announcement for the editing internship was due to come out today. Her stomach flipped every time she thought about it. Of course she wanted the job. Editing wasn’t writing, but it was a big step toward her goal, and any relevant work experience would put her miles ahead of the competition after graduation. She went back to her mailbox, but it was still empty. 

Tara breathed deep and whistled as the air escaped her lips. She pushed the old desk chair back and got up. When she opened the bedroom door, the first thing she noticed was the scent of warm cinnamon. She cocked her head in wonder and followed her nose out into the kitchen. “Good morning,” she said from the doorway, realizing at the last second that she hadn’t brushed her hair yet. She hastily smoothed down the parts that usually stuck up and prayed that she didn’t look like a muppet.

“Morning,” Willow turned her head to look over her shoulder. Tara noticed that she wasn’t dressed either. The redhead looked very comfortable in her dark plaid, flannel pants and loose, hooded sweatshirt. 

When Willow turned to lift two plates to the table, Tara read the front of the shirt. “Eat. Sleep. Farm.” She smiled, easily amused by the simple picture of a tractor above the last word. “And breakfast?” she asked as a plate found its way to the table in front of her.

“I was hungry. I heard you were up,” Willow stopped herself before the babble took over. She pointed at the toast on the plate. “It’s cinnminn toast.”

“Cinnminn?”

The redhead blushed. “Well, you might say cinnamon… If you were sophisticated and mature, anyway…” She lifted a piece of toast and bit the corner off. “The cooks at camp made this one year when I was a kid. I’ve loved it ever since.”

Tara tasted her own, surprised at how simple, yet how delicious, it was. The cinnamon sugar on top of the toast had been caramelized, but the buttered bread underneath was soft and delicate. “So you cook, you fix houses,” she counted off talents on her free hand, “and you farm?”

Willow blushed again. “Do you think that’s a little silly?”

“Well,” Tara took another bite, “silly and Willow Rosenberg do go together like cinnminn and toast. I think farming is…” she chose her words carefully, “beautiful.”

“Beautiful?” Willow looked solidly into Tara’s eyes as she said the word.

“Beautiful,” Tara said a second time.

“Are you busy today?” Willow blurted out. She stared wildly when she noticed how quickly the question had come out. “I mean, of course you’re busy. You work, you go to college, you have friends, duh. Definitely Busy Girl.” She shoved the last of the toast in her mouth, wishing the words had been in her head alone.

Tara stood and walked to the teapot, pouring herself a cup of hot tea. The scent was heavenly. Willow had brought an amazing selection of loose leaf teas home a few days before. “Which one is this?”

“Imperial Russian Caravan,” Willow answered.

“I have a class later this morning, but I’m free after lunch.” Tara blew over the top of her mug and turned to face the other girl. She rested against the countertop behind her. “What did you have in mind?”

Willow pushed her plate around by the edge, drawing imaginary circles on the table. “The last farmer’s market in Duvall is today. It’s the end of the season.”

“I’ve never been to one.” The blonde stared at her roommate, willing her to look up from the empty plate.

“I…” Willow glanced up and locked eyes with Tara. “That’s what I’ve done for work.” She sat and gazed for a moment, then looked away, afraid that she had given away too much with her eyes. “You asked before, and I didn’t really answer.”

Tara sat down at the table again. “Farmer’s markets?” She reached carefully across the rough wooden surface and picked up Willow’s left hand, delicately inspecting her nails from the previous morning. Her fingers traced the edges of Willow’s cuticles.

“No. Well yes, but not exactly,” she tried to explain. Tara was making it impossible to think straight. “I was the manager of a farm for a couple of years.” 

“So you grew crops? Like corn?” Tara was fascinated. She had lived in the city her whole life. And, while Seattle was a very farm friendly city, it was a long way from the rural life. She turned Willow’s hand over and felt along her palm, moving slowly down each of her fingers, tracing little circles over her fingertips.

Willow smiled, and her eyes sparkled. “Yeah, corn. And lots of other things.” She slowly took Tara’s hand in her own, playing with the other woman’s fingers in a similar manner. 

“Cows?” Tara playfully refused to look up from where their hands tangled together. She couldn’t keep the light smile from the edges of her mouth.

“Yes, cows.” Willow shoved her plate aside and reached her right hand out to take Tara’s left.

Tara couldn’t keep her eyes down any longer. She looked longingly up into Willow’s green eyes, knowing that nothing could make her want to let go. “And pigs?”

“Pigs, too,” the redhead giggled. “Have you ever been to a farm?”

Tara ducked her head, suddenly embarrassed. “Does a petting zoo count?”

The morning couldn’t move fast enough. Tara sat impatiently through her Contemporary Literature class, taking notes mechanically. Her neat handwriting scrolled its own way across the page, twice missing the paper and leaving an ink stain on the edge of her binder. She glanced at the laptop on the knees of the young man to her right, wishing she had the guts to ask him to borrow it. The internship was forefront in her mind, and when she wasn’t obsessing about that, she was daydreaming about spending time with Willow. Her eyes closed slightly, and she forgot about the notes while she allowed her imagination to drift off to a better place.

She pictured herself painting the living room walls a pale yellow. It needed a lighter color to make use of the natural light it was afforded by the two big windows, one facing east, the other facing south. She was smiling. There was paint on her shirt. Tara sighed as she thought about how easy life could be without her current job. Yes, it would mean more hours, it might mean she would have to add a new end to the candle to burn, but it would be worth it. She closed her eyes fully and let her heart beat faster at the thought of such freedom. Somewhere in that picture, Willow made her way into the scene. Tara put the paintbrush in her hands and stepped around the furniture obscured by drop cloths. She quietly hummed a simple tune under her breath as she relaxed into the standard plastic chair in the classroom she had forgotten she was sitting in. Willow dipped her brush into the paint can and threw the stray drips from the bristles onto Tara’s old sweatshirt. They laughed and pushed each other gently, and Tara suddenly realized how desperate she was to touch Willow. It didn’t need to be much, nothing too personal, nothing intimate. She focused on the feel of her hand in the crook of Willow’s elbow, and the redhead looked into her eyes with the most amazing smile Tara had ever seen.

“Tara?” a voice rudely interrupted her visions. Her eyes snapped open, and she noticed with a sinking feeling in her stomach that the whole class was staring at her. “What’s your take on Henry’s decisions?” the slender professor asked as she drummed her fingers on the open book in front of her.

“Um,” Tara cleared her throat and straightened in the molded chair. She glanced at the book in her bag in an attempt to remember what it was about. “Henry?” she started. “He’s, ah, he’s a complex character in several ways.” Her brain feverishly searched through bits of the conversation she had daydreamt through. “Most of his decisions are made in the moment. He’s so focused on things turning out in the most idyllic fashion that he loses sight of reality.” She played with the ends of her loose hair when she finished speaking, and she sent up a silent prayer that she had chosen the right response.

The professor smiled and nodded. “Exactly. And it’s that very flaw in his personality that leads him to disappointment every time something doesn’t work out in life.”

Tara relaxed once more and breathed a sigh of relief. She put the tip of her pen back to the page of notes and cursed at herself under her breath for letting her mind wander so far out of her control.

“And that’s it for today, everyone,” the professor closed the book. “Next week is the book of your choice. Remember the course, though,” she smiled. “Pick something contemporary, something that inspires you. I expect a little originality here. See you next Friday.”

Chairs scraped over the linoleum floor as students stood and left the room in pairs and small groups. Tara gathered her things alone and made for the library. She needed a computer. She needed to know if the announcement had gone out. A light sweat moistened her palms at the thought. She held herself to a walk as she cut through the campus, down a shallow set of steps and through a back door into one of the older computer labs. No one used them anymore. This one was empty, and the old, clunky monitors had a fine layer of dust on them. She was inwardly convinced that everyone had a laptop but her, but she figured one more thing in her life that could break was something she did not need. She couldn’t afford such luxuries anyway.

“Come on,” she punched the keys on the keyboard a little too hard, which made her have to retype her password to get access to her account. She clicked on her mailbox and reeled at the sight of the unread message at the top. The font was in bold. Tara was giddy. “This is it.” She inhaled deeply and clicked on the email message.

Ms. Maclay,

It was nice to meet you and I want to thank you for your interest in the current Intern position. I have selected Dawn Forester from a great group of candidates, and I am sorry that I was limited to just one.

There will no doubt be future internships and I encourage you to consider applying again. 

Regards,

George Stallman

Tara’s hands went cold. She started to shake as she sat in the air conditioned room, and her heart pounded painfully in her chest. It slowed and thumped so hard that she began to wonder if she would truly die right there, alone in an abandoned computer lab, surrounded by the dust of neglect. The edges of her eyelids burned with the salt of the tears she knew were coming, but she couldn’t quite muster enough air in her lungs to let herself cry. The whole world was falling out from under her. Her eyes fell out of focus and she stared blankly at the monitor in front of her. There was no rescue this time. There was no happy ending. She would go back to her list of appointments which were rapidly filling up her free time every week, and she would pretend to be happy. She would fake the smile on her face again, like she had done for years. “Keep your chin up,” her mother had said. Did all mothers say that? Was it in some kind of a manual for them? Tara pushed herself back from the computer and slouched in the chair. The clock behind her ticked away, but she didn’t move. She just sat, immobile, apathetic, numb from the pain.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is there a good forum around here for finding a beta? I'd very much like to finish this work and some others I have pending, but I could truly use some help with a couple of plot hang-ups.

Willow waited in her car, the engine long since turned off. Tara should have been there by now. Her class had ended an hour before. They had agreed to meet down by the student union building. Tara had called it the HUB. She waited. She changed the playlist on her iPod and adjusted the sound controls on the stereo. She waited some more. Now she was getting worried. Looking around the parking lot, only remotely concerned that she didn’t have a permit to leave her car there, Willow wandered off, hoping her gut would lead her in the right direction. She’d been on the University of Washington campus once before, and it had been a disaster. She was no more prepared this time around, and she fully expected to get lost and spend a night in the doorway of some building, shivering in the cold. “Over-dramatic much?” she mumbled as her feet took her up a set of steps and between a stand of beech trees. The autumn air was crisp, but all the excitement of their plans for the afternoon was wearing thin as Willow searched the campus for her friend.

She stopped when she spotted a kiosk directory, then made her way to the library at the heart of the campus. Tara was nowhere to be seen. Willow went back outside and sat on the steps, letting her chin rest in her hands. A young man ran past her, drawing her attention to the right. He slowed and glanced back at her, and Willow thought something about him was familiar. He must have felt the same, and he turned fully. She took in his slim form, the expensive jeans, the casual, un-tucked blue stripe shirt, the thick, brown curls of hair that sprang from behind his ears, and she knew immediately. “Drew?”

His mouth quirked into a smile, and he took a step toward her. Her frame was slight, her hair was red and long, and her face looked terribly innocent, exactly the way Tara had described her. “Willow?” She nodded and stood, holding out her hand. “No time for pleasantries, sweetie.” He grabbed her hand, then led her off at a jog to the basement of a building around the corner. They screeched to a halt just before plunging through the large metal door under his other hand. “She’s going to be upset,” his eyes narrowed on her. “She needs friends.”

“The internship?” Willow asked, realization dawning on her. The selection for the newspaper job was supposed to have been announced sometime today. Drew nodded, frowning slightly, then pushed the door open.

Tara was sitting on the floor, her eyes staring blankly at the wall on the other side of the computer lab. She had obviously been crying. “I don’t know why I try,” she mumbled as Drew sat beside her.

He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and hugged her close to him. “You keep trying because you’re tough.” Willow felt completely out of place. She stood, not sure whether it was okay to look at Tara in her moment of obvious grief, and she was terrified that her face would find the wrong expression. Compassion? Pity? She couldn’t imagine either making Tara feel better. “How about we go and get some chocolate ice cream?” Drew suggested.

Tara shook her head slowly, her eyes still looking forward. “I’m not hungry.” Her voice was devoid of emotion.

Drew glared up at Willow, clearly wanting her to say something. Tara saw her out of the corner of her eye, but when she looked up at the redhead, her face was filled with so much pain that Willow had to look away. “Um,” she started nervously, looking for a place to sit on the hard floor, “I know you must be upset.” Upset? Of course she’s upset! Willow plopped down onto the floor and turned to face the blonde. Whatever words were making their way to her lips, they stopped short when their eyes met. This wasn’t about an internship. It was something bigger. Something in Tara had snapped, and she sat beside Willow as a stranger, broken and lost. 

Willow closed her eyes and let her instincts take over. She reached out and took Tara’s hand in her own. Drew let go of his best friend as she was lifted to her feet. He watched them walk out of the building, catching Willow’s eye as she pulled the blonde through the door. For some reason, though he wondered briefly why he felt it, he genuinely trusted that she would take care of Tara.

“Where are you taking me?”

“For a drive.”

Tara scowled. “I’m not in the mood.”

Willow’s pace did not slow. “I don’t care.” She marched down the same steps she had come up a few minutes earlier, finally spotting her car in its illegitimate parking space. She walked to the passenger door and opened it. She inclined her head to the seat and waited. Tara glared at her and crossed her arms in front of her chest. Willow glared back. “Go ahead. Try to out-stubborn me.” 

Sighing dramatically and letting her arms drop to her sides, Tara rolled her eyes and sat in the passenger seat, allowing Willow to close the door for her. She watched the redhead slide into the seat beside her and start the car. “I’m sorry,” she tried to say. Willow’s hand slipped from the gear shift to Tara’s, and she held it tightly. They looked into each other’s eyes, and Tara felt her lips stretch into a smile without her permission. She willed them to frown, but something about those sincere, green eyes staring back at her made everything seem alright. “I never should have gotten my hopes up about that job,” she looked away, keeping her hand still. She lifted her thumb and grabbed hold of Willow’s index finger.

“It won’t be the only job opportunity you ever get,” Willow tried to encourage her. She lifted her hand and shifted the car into reverse, backing out of the parking space. They both immediately missed the other’s touch, but it wasn’t mentioned. She drove off the campus and fought the afternoon traffic across the floating bridge over Lake Washington. A thousand conversations played through her mind, but she couldn’t think of a way to start any of them.

“Where are we going?” Tara finally spoke up. She had stared out the window for miles and was beginning to think they were headed for one of the mountain passes.

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Willow answered cryptically, then smiled. Taking her favorite way out of downtown Redmond and out into the country, she made sure to speed up on some of the hilly sections, relishing the sensation of her stomach dropping when the road crested and fell. A sideways glance confirmed that Tara liked it, too. They turned a few times, each new road showing Tara a place she had never seen, and she found herself smiling at the cows chewing their cud by the barbed wire fences. Willow turned the car sharply onto a gravel path and drove down past a big blue house with a long, wrap-around porch, around some small buildings surrounded by shaggy-looking cattle, and finally parked beside a classic red barn. A middle-aged man in overalls turned and took off his cowboy hat, squinting at the car. Willow opened her door and waved at him as she stood. “Hey, Bengt!” He grinned widely and waved his hat at her. She bent down and peered at Tara through the car. “Come on. Let me show you around.”

Tara stepped out of the car uncertainly. She looked around at the stacks of hay bales and burlap sacks of feed and wrinkled her nose at the scent of manure. “This is how you make me feel better about losing that internship?”

Willow laughed and grabbed her hand again, desperately hoping she wasn’t being too forward. Tara’s hand closed around her own. “Just come with me,” the redhead said. She led Tara into the barn and past rows of empty stalls that were being cleaned and prepared for housing animals over the long winter to come. They stopped at the last stall, and they both saw the top of a woman’s head. Her light brown hair was pulled neatly back into a braid running down between her shoulders. Tara peeked over the door to the stall and saw a tiny baby goat in the woman’s lap. “Hi, Luna,” Willow spoke up, startling the little animal.

Luna turned her face up to them and smiled. “Willow!” She motioned for them to open the door and come in. “This must be Tara,” she held out a hand and shook Tara’s in a friendly way.

“Right,” Willow suddenly remembered her manners. “Tara, this is Luna.” She sat in the hay beside the older woman, indicating that Tara should do the same. “And this,” she picked up the goat, “is Tiny Tim.” Tara descended gingerly, looking around herself to make sure she wasn’t sitting in something undesirable. Her eyes landed on the furry little baby in Willow’s lap, and she couldn’t help melting at the sight of him. “This is how I make you feel better,” Willow explained, depositing the goat in her lap before she could object.

Tara pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them. The sun was setting on the far side of a field below the small hill she had found on her walk around the property. She had seen every animal she had ever imagined belonged on a farm and several she had never thought of as farm animals. Luna had caught her when she tripped in the mud next to the milking shed, which had been embarrassing enough. Tara smiled at the recent memory. Worse yet had been her reason for falling. An enormous yak had strayed from the group of its furry companions behind the shed and had snorted at her. She sighed and shook her head at herself. “I am such a city girl.” She had wrinkled her nose at the slightly smelly sheep, collected chicken eggs in a variety of colors, and petted the downy, soft fur of rabbits. It had been an eventful afternoon.

Her mind drifted back to the job interview, to the utter despair she had felt at being rejected, and to her current job. She sighed heavily and let her eyes drop.

“Hey,” a voice startled her from behind. Tara lifted her head and saw Willow crouching down beside her. “Too much rural life in one day?”

Tara noticed how relaxed the girl on her left was. She leaned on the hands she had placed behind herself, and she basked in what was left of the early autumn light. Long strands of hair hung down behind her shoulders, mingling with the tall grass. “You used to do this all the time?” Willow nodded. “Why did you quit?”

“I didn’t quit, exactly,” she tried to explain. “I just decided I’m ready to start my own farm. I need land, but I’ll find the right place.” Willow sat forward and stared at the gathering clouds on the horizon. They changed from pink to purple as the sunlight faded. “Bengt and Luna were great to work with, and they wanted me to stay,” her voice sounded heavy, and Tara wondered if the girl regretted her decision. “But I need a place of my own.” She turned to Tara. “You still think farming is beautiful after seeing the compost piles?”

Tara grinned. “Beautiful, but far from glamorous.” They were silent for a long time, and Tara felt the first chill of the coming night creep up her arms. “Thank you for bringing me out here,” she said without looking at Willow.

“I’m sorry about the internship,” Willow answered, also keeping her eyes forward.

“I’ll get over it.”

“Tara,” Willow finally turned her head to the side, and she looked right into the blonde’s eyes, “I know you aren’t comfortable talking about your job, but it’s killing you.” She felt Tara’s breathing slow down, and she noticed the tension increase between them. “You’re thinking it’s not my place to say anything like that, and you’re right. I’m just the roommate. I’m just the girl who cooks you dinner every night and notices the bruises when you sit down to eat but doesn’t say a word about it.” Tara bit her lip and thought about pulling her sleeves down to cover the faint bruises which were visible just above her wrists. “I’m the one who hears you cry after you hang up the phone.” Willow’s voice softened. “And I know you’re strong. You’re the strongest person I think I’ve ever known. No one ever gets to see you break down.” She lifted her hand and gently placed it over Tara’s. “But you don’t have to go through everything alone.”

Tara felt the tears on her cheeks before she realized she was crying. Her lungs fought for air, but it wouldn’t come. All of the pain from her day came rushing up in her blood and pulled her toward the ground. Willow’s arms were around her, and she was suddenly safe and warm. The tears surged forth with every sob, and she leaned into the other woman so hard that Willow had to steady herself to keep from falling over. A soothing hand stroked Tara’s hair, and she knew that Willow was telling her everything would be alright, and Tara knew she was wrong. But for that one moment, for just one brief moment on a grassy hillside in the middle of a farm on a cold October evening, Tara let go of everything outside of the grasp of the arms around her. She allowed herself to be comforted, and she relaxed in Willow’s embrace.

“She took you where?”

“She took me to the farm she used to work on,” Tara explained for the third time. She leaned back into the pile of pillows resting against the headboard of her bed. “It was unreal.”

“No, honey, there is nothing unreal about farms,” Drew snapped back. “They are far too real, in fact.”

Tara smiled and let her tired body sink into the flannel sheets she had rescued from the dryer thirty minutes earlier. They were still faintly warm. “You can hate farm life all you want, Drew, but you cannot take away my fun.”

“So you actually had fun, then,” she heard the smugness in his voice and cringed a little, but she knew he was right. “That’s a good change from how I found you earlier.” Tara held her breath and refused to comment. “I know you’re still upset,” he went on, and Tara adjusted the cell phone next to her ear. His voice was almost always the last thing she heard before she drifted off to sleep every night. “You just need to let loose your inner party girl so you can put it behind you.”

“Does this mean I’m expected to shake my booty tomorrow night?”

“Consider it your entrance fee,” Drew quipped back. “Is Willow coming?”

Tara sat up a bit, hoping her conversation wasn’t too loud in the quiet house. She had thanked Willow an hour before and hugged her before they parted for the night. Her eyes drifted to the ceiling, to where she knew the girl’s bed was above her. “I hope so. I mean, I invited her.”

“Perfect,” she heard him smile. “Get here early to help me set up. Five o’clock at the latest, Maclay.”

“Wait a minute,” Tara sat up straight. “Tomorrow is Saturday.”

“Of course it is,” Drew answered impatiently.

“Dammit!” She shouted, suddenly regretting her loud tone. She bent over the phone and whispered loudly, “I have an appointment tomorrow.”

She held the phone away from her ear as expletives erupted from it. Drew cursed and swore until he was out of breath. “What the hell do you mean, you have an appointment?”

Tara sighed and played with the green wool blanket draped over the top of her feather duvet. “I’m meeting William at eleven.”

“William?” his voice was oddly quiet and demure, which was always unsettling for Tara to hear.

“Yeah,” Tara answered. “I can’t cancel. You know I can’t.”

“I know you can’t,” his voice came meekly through the phone. “But are you sure you can go back there? After what happened the last time…”

“Drew,” the blonde sat up as though she were having the conversation with him in person, “This is not negotiable. I’m going.” She softened a little, then continued, “I just need to know that you’ll be around if I need you.”

She heard him sigh dramatically. “Have you ever known me to disappear when my best friend needs me?” Tara smiled. “What you really need to worry about is how you’re going to keep this from Willow.” The smile faded from her face. She knew he was right.


	10. Chapter 10

Willow turned left, then right, then back to the left. She glared at the image in the mirror and frowned. It wasn’t right. She sighed with exasperation and walked back to the closet, rifling through the same clothes she’d been trying on for an hour already. “I am not cut out for the social world,” she mumbled. Her hands caught her favorite pair of overalls, the ones with the tear in the right butt cheek, and she smiled. “That would certainly get her attention,” she chewed her bottom lip, “but not in the way I want. Desperate isn’t the look for this.” She let the overalls go and continued her search for the perfect outfit for Drew’s party. Tara had said it was a casual event. Willow pulled out a nice pair of jeans, but rolled her eyes when she caught sight of the drips of red paint on one side of them. She glanced at the clock by her bed. It was four-thirty. There was still more than enough time to drive out to the mall and buy something better to wear. Convinced that her own clothes would not do for this night, Willow abandoned the closet and stripped out of the mismatched blouse and pants she had tried to make work. She grabbed her favorite jeans, stepped into them, and groaned as they fell off of her hips even after they were buttoned up. She bent over to look under the bed for her WSU sweatshirt when a light knock sounded at the door.

“Are you still here?” Tara’s voice came into the room a moment before Willow was ready for company, and the redhead scrambled to get the shirt on over her naked self. “Shit,” Tara took a quick step back and immediately giggled, amused at the sight of her roommate getting stuck in the shirt in her attempt to dress quickly. “I’m sorry,” she apologized from the hallway. She fought the temptation to peek through the crack in the doorway again.

“Um, no problem,” Willow struggled with the old, grey sweatshirt, finally getting herself together. She stepped over to the doorway and opened the door fully. Tara’s eyes immediately went to the girl’s hair, and Willow suddenly realized what she must look like. Her hands grabbed at her hair and tried to pull it down into a normal style. “Sorry, I uh…”

Tara smiled widely, pleased to see that Willow didn’t have everything in life as together as she portrayed. “Parties aren’t your thing?” She stepped into the room after the other girl had nodded to her. Nothing looked the same from when Liz had inhabited that part of the house. The walls were painted a soothing mossy green, the original baseboards had been reinstalled and painted a gleaming white, and the trim around the window had been repaired back to the way Tara remembered it from her own childhood. She hadn’t mentioned it, but this had been her bedroom when she was little. She sat on the edge of the double bed by the door.

“I’ve been to parties,” Willow answered, suddenly nervous to have Tara in her bedroom. “Shindigs. Get-togethers. Weddings. Hootenannies. Maybe more outdoor venues. At the farm. Most of them just involved hay.” She blushed. “Not like, going for a roll in the hay,” she tried to explain, “Not that I’m against rolling in the hay.” Willow quickly shut her mouth to keep anything worse from erupting from it.

Tara grinned at her roommate’s ramblings. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were nervous,” she teased.

“Nervous?” Willow’s eyes grew wide. “Nah,” she played it off, shaking her head casually. “Terrified suits the situation much better.” She flopped down onto the bed beside her friend, pointing toward the closet on the far side of the room. “Everything I own is either torn, chewed on, covered in paint or grease, or doesn’t match anything else. I figured I’d head to the mall and buy something clean.”

“The mall?” Tara raised her eyebrows.

“That’s where people buy clothes, right?”

“Would you buy chicken food from Wal-Mart or would you go to a feed store?” she asked, half mockingly, half serious, then realized she didn’t actually know the answer to her own question. “You would go to a feed store, right?” Willow smiled and nodded. “Come on,” Tara took her by the arm and led her down to the master bedroom. “We don’t have time to go shopping the right way, and I’m sure I have something in my closet that will fit you just fine.” 

Willow wandered around the room while Tara searched through her own closet. She snuck glances at her roommate as the blonde shoved hangers of clothes left and right. Her hair was down today, and it shimmered in the afternoon sunlight that streamed through the south-facing window. Several strands had strayed over the shoulder of her black button-up shirt, which Willow noticed fit her very well. Her eyes lingered on the un-tucked edge of the shirt and the frayed blue jeans below. Tara didn’t usually dress so casually, but even torn jeans looked elegant on her well-toned legs. Conscious that she would get caught staring, Willow turned her attention to the decorations in the room. There were several black and white photographs in heavy wooden frames around the room. Willow stared into the eyes of Tara’s long-dead relatives and searched for the family resemblance. One picture showed a stocky man in suspenders standing in between two massive elephant tusks which he held up in his hands. “Who is this?” she pointed to the photo when Tara turned.

“I hope you don’t think it’s offensive,” she stepped closer, looking at the photo with Willow beside her. “That’s my great-grandfather. He was a missionary in the Belgian Congo. He and my great-grandmother lived there for years, and my grandmother was born there. Hunting elephants was legal back then.”

“Is your family religious?” Willow asked, moving to the pictures on her dresser. Held in a thin metal frame was a beautiful woman who looked like an older version of Tara. She was toweling off a wet, crying little girl. The ocean and the beach were behind them.

“My father was,” Tara thought back to the nightmares of her childhood. “Mom wasn’t anything like the rest of her family, though. That’s her,” she pointed at the photo Willow had picked up.

“And you?” Tara nodded. “You look very unhappy.”

“I think I was cold. Puget Sound isn’t exactly warm water.” She handed Willow a soft sweater. It was sage green and finely knitted. Willow marveled at its creamy softness and held it up to herself in front of the full length mirror beside the dresser. Tara stood behind her and pulled the other girl’s long, red hair away from her shoulders. Her fingers trembled from the nearness of Willow’s bare neck. “The color is perfect for you.”

Willow closed her eyes and felt Tara’s breath on her skin. Her scalp tingled as her hair was shifted from one hand to the other behind her back. She opened her eyes and gazed at the reflection of the two of them together. “Is it cashmere?” Tara nodded. They were so close that Willow could feel their bodies brush slightly. She imagined pressing herself into Tara’s embrace. “I couldn’t possibly wear this, Tara. It’s too beautiful.” She glanced back at the woman behind her and noticed that their lips were inches apart.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tara smiled back. She dropped Willow’s hair and took the shoulders of the sweater in her own hands, holding it up again over Willow’s body. Her hands rested on the redhead’s shoulders. “This sweater was made for you.”

Willow looked back at her reflection. “It was?”

“Not only was it made for you,” Tara pulled the waist of the sweater around Willow’s hips, making sure it would fit perfectly, “but it’s been waiting this whole time for you to come along and make its life complete.” Her eyes drifted up to meet Willow’s in the mirror, and she realized the implication of what she had just said. Her right hand stayed on the waistline of the sweater, lightly gripping Willow’s hip.

“That’s odd,” Willow went along with the metaphor, “I’ve been waiting all my life for this exact sweater.”

Tara blushed. “You have?”

Willow’s hand drifted down and found Tara’s. She cautiously laced her own rough fingers between Tara’s soft ones. Neither of them noticed that the sweater had fallen and now draped itself over Willow’s other arm, which reached back and took Tara’s left hand. She guided both hands across her waist, pulling the two of them into an embrace. “It’s amazing,” Willow whispered, “Isn’t it?” Tara shuddered at the incredibly close contact, and her lips lightly grazed the side of Willow’s neck. “That two people could find each other without even trying…” She stopped short, then corrected herself, “Two people’s sweaters, that is.”

Tara’s eyes snapped open, and her body went stiff. She let go of the other woman and took a step backwards, suddenly feeling awkward. “I-it is.” She looked away and avoided Willow’s eyes. “Um, you’ll need a skirt or s-some pants or something to go with that,” she turned toward the closet again, but her retreat was halted by a hand on her elbow.

“Hey,” Willow pulled her back and lifted Tara’s chin with her free hand. “What happened?” She looked deeply into the blue eyes in front of her, but all she saw was sadness. “I thought-”

“No,” Tara shook her head. “I mean, yes,” she nodded. Willow looked confused. “I mean,” she dropped her head in frustration at her own inability to express her thoughts. “I…” her eyes searched the room, then landed on the shirt in Willow’s hand. “Sometimes sweaters don’t fit as well as you expect them to.”

Willow glanced at the garment. “Maybe it would help to try the sweater on. That way we would know if we…” she stumbled over her own words, desperate to keep Tara from running away, “if the sweater fits right.” Her hand slipped down Tara’s arm and took her hand once more. 

Gripping the hand in her own, Tara looked from the sweater to Willow then back again. “Are we still talking about sweaters?” They stood in silence for a moment, each consumed in the gaze of the other, each knowing what they wanted, but both terrified to reach for it. Tara ducked her head, unable to quiet her restless mind. She knew this would never work. She knew Willow wouldn’t be able to handle the truth. She knew she had made her rules for a reason. “Willow,” she began to speak, but the other girl placed a finger on Tara’s bottom lip. She looked into the redhead’s eyes and felt the same comfort she had felt in her arms the day before.

“You can call me Will, if you’d like,” she smiled and edged a little closer, keeping Tara’s lip under her finger. Adrenaline shot through her veins, and Willow fought to keep her motions slow. Her hand slipped across Tara’s cheek and down the curve of her neck, and she leaned in closer. She could feel the girl pull away slightly, but it wasn’t enough to separate them. Tara wanted this as badly as Willow did. The nearer their lips came, the more they both felt the gravity of their need. 

They took an awkward, stumbling step as one, and Tara felt the back of her right thigh run into the footboard of her bed. She knew she should stop this before it happened, but everything in her was crying out for it to continue. Her desire for Willow was growing into desperation, and all the reasons not to get close were fading to the back of her mind. She untangled her hand from the redhead’s and placed it behind her, allowing herself to sit slightly. Her other hand reached forward and was planted firmly into Willow’s chest, her palm on the girl’s sternum. “Will…”

The sudden palm in her chest was enough to stop Willow in her tracks. It took the air out of her lungs. Her worst fear had been realized. Tara was pushing her away. Her face fell, and her strength faded. “I’m sorry,” she tried to whisper, but then everything changed. Tara’s fingertips curled around the neck of her sweatshirt, and she pulled the girl so close to her that she was forced to straddle Tara’s left knee. She felt the contact of Tara’s leg intensely, and her hands grabbed the girl’s hips to keep herself from throwing them both onto the bed.

Tara pulled Willow’s shirt harder, leaning in for the kiss they had both avoided, both craved. Then her cell phone vibrated and rang loudly. Their eyes shot open, and Willow’s green ones looked so surprised that Tara nearly asked her what was wrong. She felt it again and felt Willow tense a second time. “Oh,” she mumbled when she remembered having slipped her phone into the left front pocket of her jeans. “Oh, wow.” It buzzed a third time, and Willow was forced to stand up. Tara leaned back and rescued the offending device, shrugging apologetically. She glanced at the screen and stood up suddenly. “Crap!” She punched a button and held the phone up to her ear. “Drew? I am so sorry. I didn’t realize how late it was!”

Willow took a breath for the first time in a full minute. They had been so close. Tara was still close. She resisted the temptation to reach out and touch the girl again. Willow watched her speak in an animated tone to the man on the other end. The vibration had been a surprise, a very strong surprise right between her legs while she was pressed against the woman she desired more than anything. She blushed a little at her reaction, then smiled.

“I’m on my way right now,” Tara snapped back. “What?” She glared at the phone and then thrust it into Willow’s hand. She rolled her eyes and walked over to the closet.

Willow held the phone to her ear and said hello. “Willow? It’s Drew. Tara is supposed to be here right now, and I cannot handle all the prep for this party without her.” Tara mimicked her best friend’s rant in the background with her right hand held up in a puppet pose, mouthing wildly. Willow tried not to giggle. “She thinks she can get here on a bus and beat the early crowd, but she’s wrong. Environmentally friendly, but wrong.” Willow smiled. “Would you be a peach and drive her over?”

“I think I can handle that,” she answered.

“Oh, thank Prada someone can be timely around here!” he proclaimed into the other end with exaggerated relief. “I’ll help you park when you get here. Have her text me. Oh, and I hope you’re planning to stick around for the whole shindig,” he added.

“Um,” Willow tried to answer, but her words were cut short by a click at the other end. She dropped the phone from her ear and glanced up at Tara, who was holding out a long skirt. She scrunched up her nose at the garment and shook her head. “Me in a skirt is not something anyone should ever have to see.”

Tara turned around and exchanged the skirt for a nice pair of charcoal grey pants. “Don’t even think about saying no,” she warned, arranging the outfit on the end of the bed. Willow stared at the footboard and let her mind drift back to the moment they had shared there. “I have a pair of shoes for you by the front door. I need to grab a few things from the kitchen.” Willow nodded, unable to speak as Tara headed for the door. “Oh, one more thing,” she spun on her heel and stepped back toward Willow. She didn’t stop until their lips met. Tara kissed her so quickly and with such intense passion that Willow was dumbstruck. When she stopped, she backed away slowly, waiting for the redhead’s eyes to open. “See you at the car?” Willow’s vision was only just coming back into focus as Tara slipped out of the bedroom and pulled the door shut behind her.


	11. Chapter 11

Willow followed Drew and Tara into the trendy apartment from the ornate decorations and lush carpets of the hallway, her arms full of wine bottles. She gaped at the extravagant furniture and original pieces of art hung on walls and displayed on pedestals around the loft. The kitchen was another gallery of sorts, clean, organized, and stocked with decadent spices and mysterious jars. Drew moved around the black quartz countertops like he was born to be a chef. “It’s a hobby,” he quirked his lips into a smile in answer to Willow’s question.

“Don’t listen to him,” Tara spoke up. “He’s a genius in the kitchen.” She made herself at home right away, grabbing a box of crackers from the third cupboard to the left of the refrigerator. She opened it and started snacking. She sat on one of the barstools at the kitchen island and nodded for Willow to do the same. “Someday he’ll come to his senses and go to culinary school instead of trying to be a literature professor,” Tara smirked proudly at her comment, knowing Drew would roll his eyes at her.

Feeling more than a little awkward at her intrusion between the two good friends, Willow tried to make polite conversation. “You’re studying lit at the UW?”

“That’s how Tare and I met,” Drew answered from inside the enormous fridge. He emerged with a bowl of fruit. “But I veered off into poetry.” He deposited the fruit salad on the counter and straightened himself to recite. 

“If by dull rhymes our English must be chain'd,  
And, like Andromeda, the Sonnet sweet  
Fetter'd, in spite of pained loveliness,  
Let us find, if we must be constrain'd,  
Sandals more interwoven and complete  
To fit the naked foot of Poesy:  
Let us inspect the Lyre, and weigh the stress  
Of every chord, and see what may be gain'd  
By ear industrious, and attention meet;  
Misers of sound and syllable, no less  
Than Midas of his coinage, let us be  
Jealous of dead leaves in the bay wreath crown;  
So, if we may not let the Muse be free,  
She will be bound with garlands of her own.”

He bowed slightly at the end, and both women clapped enthusiastically. “I feel a bit ignorant about poetry,” Willow admitted.

“It’s simple,” Drew stepped close to her and whispered somewhat loudly in her ear, “and it gets you into the pants of even the most prudish and reserved.” He stood taller and winked at her, clearly glancing at Tara in a suggestive way. Willow blushed, and Tara reached across the island to slap him on the arm, but Drew skipped off too quickly to be caught. “No girl fights in my house!” he taunted.

Tara glanced at Willow, and their eyes met for the slightest moment. They each looked away and tried not to think of the kiss earlier that afternoon. The car ride to Drew’s apartment had been more than a little awkward. Neither of them had known what to say. Now, helping with the preparations for the party that would begin in an hour, Willow could barely focus on piping the cheese mixture onto the tiny toasted slices of bread in front of her. “I don’t even know what the hell a toast point is,” she mumbled to herself. Drew had shown her how it was done, and it had looked easy in his steady hands. Her own fingers strained and trembled, and the cheese was getting onto every surface she touched. She closed her eyes and thought about how soft Tara’s lips had been, and three of the little decorated pieces of toast tumbled to the clean travertine at her feet.

Drew snuck a glance at her over his shoulder. “It’s not quantum physics, buttercup.” He grinned in an encouraging way, then narrowed his eyes at her. “That’s a great sweater on you, Willow.” She blushed harder, and his eyes switched to the blonde at the sink. Tara avoided his eyes and washed the plate in her hand a third time. Drew shifted his weight to the other hip and glared at the back of Tara’s head until she was forced to look at him. “Can you help me with the lights out on the deck, Tare?” he said with more than a little edge to his voice. Her shoulders dropped, and she shut the water off, grabbing a towel to dry her hands as she followed him through the living room and out the tall glass doors onto the full-length deck. “When, exactly, did you intend to tell your best friend in the whole fucking world about what you’ve been up to?!” he strained to keep his volume low.

“I’m sorry,” Tara started to explain. She walked to the railing and looked at the last color of sunset fading over the Space Needle. “It just kind of happened.”

“How much happened?” he demanded.

“One kiss.” Tara glared at him in defiance, breaking under her own guilt after a moment. She sighed heavily and leaned on the back of a patio chair. “I didn’t mean for-”

“Tara,” Drew interrupted, taking her shoulder in his hand, “what does she know?” Her head dropped. “Christ,” he whispered. His arms wrapped around her from behind, and he hugged her close. “We’ll figure this out. I promise.” Tara held back her tears. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

She turned and faced him, resolve heavy in her eyes. “She can’t find out.”

“Are you having a good time?” Drew spoke loudly into Willow’s ear, hoping she could hear him over the loud music and conversation. The crowd in his living room was so thick that you nearly had to raise your arms over your head to make your way through.

She nodded and stood up taller to talk into his ear. “You throw a great party.” Two incredibly tall drag queens in full make-up and gowns bumped into them on their way to the balcony. Willow held her glass of wine aloft to keep it from spilling. Her eyes followed them, admiring how they swished and swiveled. “Have you seen Tara?” The blonde had eluded her since the first dozen guests had shown up, and Willow hadn’t caught sight of her in over an hour. She saw a clock on the wall. It was eleven-thirty.

Drew smiled in rehearsed fashion. “Come with me,” he took her hand and led her through the throngs of dancing bodies. They worked their way down the hall and into a bedroom. Drew closed the door, leaving most of the noise on the other side. “We need to talk.” Willow looked around the room, thinking Tara might be near. “She had to go.”

“Go?” Willow’s head tilted to the right.

“Look,” Drew began, encouraging her to sit on the bed beside him, “I know parties aren’t your strong suit, and you’ve been such a doll to come tonight…”

Willow set her glass down on the bedside table and crossed her arms over her chest. “Cut to the chase, Drew. What’s going on here?”

Clearing his throat and summoning his courage, Drew smoothed the curls of hair around his ears. They sprang back instantly. “I know she’s been giving you mixed signals, and having you around has been so good for her. Really, Willow, she’s been eating and sleeping regularly. It’s been wonderful.” He could see that she was getting impatient. “But Tara’s not available.”

Stung by his words, Willow stood up and paced the length of the room. Her heart ached, and her head grew light. “All this time?”

Drew approached her from behind, gently placing a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry.”

“Who is he?” Willow spun on him, anger sharp in her eyes. Drew stepped back in shock. “At least tell me that much.”

“It’s complicated,” he looked away.

“Complicated?” she yelled. “It’s complicated? Falling for a girl who has an abusive boyfriend is complicated, Drew. Do you know what he’s doing to her?” The pain in her expression was so vivid, so tangible, Drew began to regret his promise to Tara. “She has bruises. New ones every day.” She advanced on him, pushing him back across the room. “He calls her on the phone, and she cries. She won’t even admit he exists. She says it’s a job.” Drew blinked rapidly and lowered his head. “Why else would she lie like that?”

Drew turned and grabbed her wine glass, downing the remainder of her drink in one gulp. He shuddered and looked back at her. “There’s no boyfriend, Willow,” he said slowly. “She’s not lying.” 

Willow quirked her head, her eyebrows furrowing as she tried to understand. She reached for the edge of the bed to steady herself, letting her body relax after her rant. “I don’t get it.”

He sighed and squared his shoulders to her. “She hasn’t lied to you. She just hasn’t told you the whole truth.”

Terrified, Willow began to realize that this was not what she had assumed. “And what, exactly, is the whole truth?” Drew couldn’t speak. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her what she wanted to know. “Drew?” she stepped closer, looking into his soft, brown eyes. “Fine, so Tara’s not here.” His shoulders dropped, and he looked like he wanted to cry. Willow tensed, anxiety building in the pit of her stomach. “Then where is she?”

Tara stepped past the bus driver and smiled as she walked out the door. It closed behind her, and the coach pulled off into the cold night, leaving her alone on the sidewalk. She wrapped her wool coat closer around herself, then headed north along the divided street between the fraternity houses. She recalled the first time she had walked this way and shuddered. William’s perfect smile haunted her vision and made her feet desperate to turn back, to head for the nearest bus stop that would take her back to Ballard, back home. Her thoughts drifted to the kiss she had shared with Willow. Her feet paused, and her lips tried to smile. Her heartbeat quickened. “… you don’t have to go through everything alone,” she heard the redhead say in her mind. Tara opened her eyes and frowned. She had to go through with this. Pushing the image of the redhead to the back of her mind, she walked on.

The front steps and porch of Pi Kappa Alpha house were strewn with empty bottles and cans, and a thumping bass line pounded from within the walls of the old building. She could see the crowd of people inside. Tara took several deep breaths and pushed herself up the flight of steps. She hesitated at the front door, still toying with the idea of turning back. Her fists clenched and relaxed repeatedly in the pockets of her coat. Before she could make a decision, the door swung open, revealing the ruddy face of a young man. He was chanting and shouting with everyone else, and he took up the call even louder when he saw the beautiful blonde on the other side of the threshold. “Ayo, Buddy!”

“Boom!” the rest of the crowd answered back. Tara cringed. They chanted again, and she slipped past the shirtless freshman who had opened the door. “Boom!” their voices shook the aging floor of the front hall, a large gathering room complete with oversized furniture that a dozen frenzied boys stood upon. The new recruit behind her reached out and grabbed her ass, making Tara jump. She scowled at him and hurried off to the hallway on the right. “Boom!” Hands reached out from the mass of jumping bodies and grabbed at her, but Tara didn’t slow down. 

The last one caught her coat and spun her around. “Glad you could make it,” a handsome young man with a gleaming, white smile stepped out from his frat brothers and took hold of Tara’s arm. Unlike many of the others, he was dressed in a t-shirt and gray blazer. He led her off down the hall, offering a subtle signal to one of the other upper-classmen in the hall. His look was answered with a nod. His grip on Tara’s arm did not relax as they walked the familiar hallway to the flight of stairs at the back of the building. “You’re late,” he whispered as they climbed.

Tara strained ever so slightly in his grip. “I took the bus.”

“You’re better than that.” He opened a heavy oak door at the top of the stairs. It was the second in a long line of similar doors. His head jerked to the right, and Tara entered the room. He closed the door behind them.

“Cut the crap, William,” she sneered at him. Her palms began to sweat. “We’ve been over this.”

He straightened his blazer and glanced at his hair in the mirror on the closet door. Everything was perfect. His hair was smooth and recently trimmed. The sandy, brown strands lay perfectly over his flawless skin. He ran a hand over his clean-shaven face. “I’ve told you before, Tara, it doesn’t have to be like this.” He turned his accusing eyes toward her, their blue-grey coldness like stainless steel on bare skin. “Why do you insist on making everything in life so much harder than it needs to be?”

She backed into the tall dresser by the far window and tried to make her clumsiness look casual. “Can we just… get on with it?” Tara tilted her head and her hair swept over her shoulder. She slipped the long coat off and let it drape over the arm of the chair by her right leg.

William crossed the room in four long steps. His nearness stole the breath from Tara’s lungs. She was overwhelmed with the scent of his aftershave and cologne. He reached up and brushed the hair back from her ear, relishing the softness of her skin. “There’s been a slight change in plan.” She glanced up at him, cold fear creeping through her veins. “I’m sure you won’t mind if some friends join us,” his eyebrows raised.

Every muscle in Tara’s body tensed. “William,” she whispered, pleading, “you know I can’t-”

“You can, and you will,” his hand tightened around the base of her neck. His last word played on her mind, and Tara was overcome with visions of the redhead. Will. Will. Will. The world was spinning out of control. She began to panic. She had to get out of that house. She tried to move to the right, but the strong man grabbed her hip and pinned her against the dresser. It rocked backwards with the force of their bodies against it. “You’ve played this game long enough, Tara,” he smiled, taking on the role of the benevolent savior. His eyes were gentle and full of compassion, but his grip did not fade. “It’s over now. No more whoring yourself out to CEOs and attorneys. You’re going to stay here with me.” 

He leaned closer and tried to kiss her, but Tara pushed and struggled against his overwhelming power. “Stop it!” she screamed. “L-let me go!” The door to the room opened, and two more men stepped inside. She recognized them as William’s friends from the football team. Tears streamed from her eyes as they closed the door.

The car tires screeched as they were forced to turn sharply to the right. Drew grabbed the handle over the door and gritted his teeth. “It’s up two blocks.” He tried to breath normally, but Willow’s erratic driving kept his heart rate well above normal. “This is a bad idea.”

“And you think it’s a good idea to let her do this?” Willow snapped back at him. She scanned the four-way intersection and charged through without stopping. This was a side of the quiet farm girl Drew had not seen coming. “How long has this been going on?” She whipped the little car into a spot by the curb, pulled the hand brake, and turned the key in the ignition. She looked up at the imposing frat house and felt a chill run over her flesh.

“Willow,” Drew tried to speak in a calm voice, “Tara’s been doing this since…” he hesitated, afraid that his words would rile her up even more. “For a long time.” He placed his hand on top of hers and looked into her green eyes.

“What kind of a friend does that make you?” Willow took her hand away from him and opened her door. She skipped around the car and up onto the sidewalk.

“Willow,” Drew called out as he tried to catch up to her. “I know you like her.” She stopped in her tracks and stared at the soggy grass under her feet. He stood behind her. “And I know that she likes you, too.” She turned a little and allowed herself to soften. “She didn’t want you to know about this.”

“I don’t think I wanted to know. But I do now,” she hunched her shoulders up in the cold wind. “Are you coming with me?”

Drew stepped into the grass beside her. “No.” Willow’s heart sank. “And you’re not going in there.” She looked back at him with a question on her face. “You won’t get her out by going inside.”

“Try and stop me,” she spat at him.

“Dammit, Willow,” he grabbed her arm and held her steady. “Do you think you’re the only one who cares about Tara?” His voice was firm and loud, nothing like she had come to expect from him. “Who do you think took care of her before you came along?” The redhead shrank at his harsh words. “You might think I’m an asshole of a best friend, but I’m an asshole who knows a thing or two about frat row.” Drew let her arm go, and they both relaxed a bit. “You are going to have to do exactly as I tell you.” He sighed, “She is never going to forgive us for this.”

Drew knocked six times on the front door. He heard one knock in response. He knocked twice, then heard three more. Mustering what was left of his courage, he knocked once. Six knocks sounded from inside, and the door opened. A boy who looked barely eighteen frowned at him from the darkened entryway.

“Hello,” the boy spoke up. “Have we been acquainted?”

“Perhaps in a past life,” Drew recited the phrase from memory.

“Yes, you may be correct,” the Freshman smiled, knowing that the visitor was a Pike, like himself.

“Delightful,” Drew grinned back. He held his fist up, and the boy did the same. Their knuckles bumped, and the ritual was complete. “Sorry I’m late.” He walked into the entry as though he had been a member his whole life. “Is William still up?”

The boy smiled conspiratorially. “I think that party is finally over.”

Drew chuckled on his way toward the back stairway, but the bottom of his stomach dropped away. He glanced around the hallway, hoping no one would spot him. Sneaky spy operations were not his thing. He pulled the cell phone from him pocket and whispered into it, “I’m in,” then slipped it back into his jeans. He swept up the stairs and panicked at the sight of so many similar doors. They were all closed. Everything was quiet. Resting his back against the wall, Drew closed his eyes and tried to focus. He grabbed the cell phone once more and held it up to his ear. “It’s quiet,” he spoke into it.

“Call her,” Willow told him from the other end. “You’ll hear her phone ring.”

Drew ended the call. Before he could dial Tara’s number, one of the doors in the hallway creaked open. It moved slowly, and Drew pressed himself up against the wall with all the effort he could summon. Blonde hair gleamed in the faint light, and slim shoulders emerged from the room. Drew leaned closer, suddenly finding himself eye to eye with his best friend. “Tara?” he mouthed, relieved and panicked all at the same moment.

She rushed from the doorway and into his arms. He felt her whole body shake. She never spoke a word. They joined hands and looked up and down the hall. Drew looked at the screen of his phone and found Willow’s number. He dialed it and whispered into the phone once they started making their way down the steps, “I’ve got her.” He lowered the phone and looked at Tara. “What the hell happened in there?” he demanded.

Tara scowled at him, then winced at the pain in her face. A dark circle was already forming around her left eye, and there was a small cut on her cheek. She shook her head at him and pulled him down to the long hallway with such urgency that he was inclined to run.

“She’s not yours to take, brother,” a voice sounded behind them.

They kept hold of each other’s hands and turned slowly. Broad shoulders and short hair were all they could see of the silhouette in the dim light from the kitchen down the hall. The figure advanced on them, and Tara cringed under her own extended hand. “We’re just going to walk out,” Drew stated with mock confidence. He pulled Tara closer.

“It’s sweet that you think so,” the silhouette stepped closer again, “but I’m afraid you’re wrong.” The scent of the man’s aftershave made its way to Tara’s nose, and she gasped. 

Though the darkness surrounded them, she felt the bodies behind them, their movements obscured in blackness. Hands reached out and grabbed her. They pulled her back, and she felt Drew turn to shake them off. “Let her go!” His phone hit the floor.

“Drew!” Tara screamed, seeing the punch coming before he did. His face turned just in time to catch the fist of the person from the shadows. William struck him hard, and he fell in a slump to the floor. Satisfied that his only obstacle was overcome, William stepped over Tara’s friend and grabbed her wrist, and then all hell broke loose. The building’s fire alarm went off, emergency lights flashed, and a wailing siren screeched. Tara wrestled her arm free of William’s grasp and fell to the floor beside her friend. She shook him frantically until she could see his unfocused eyes staring back at her. “Get up!” she ordered.

The chaos around them was starting to increase as frat members flooded into the hallway around them. William barked orders over the din of sirens and loud voices, but no one could understand him. He turned and lost his balance, tripping over Tara’s outstretched leg. “Bitch!” she heard him call out. Scared for their very lives, she found the strength to pull herself and Drew to their feet.

Careening through the old fraternity house with the rest of the panicking crowd, Tara and Drew flew through the front door in what felt like slow motion. When her feet hit pavement, she bolted. Drew chased after her and called out over the police and fire department sirens that were fast approaching, “Tara! Wait! Not that way!” She turned and saw him motioning to the little blue Jetta racing down the street toward them. She knew that car. That was Willow’s car.


	12. Chapter 12

It had been the quietest car ride that any of them had been through in a long time. Drew’s mind drifted back to a similar night when he was seven. His mother and father didn’t speak on that trip, and the drive went on for a long time. It was usually only an hour from Chicago to their house out in the cornfields, but it went on forever that night. He could still remember the howl of the old Chevy engine, the smell of burning oil, the little blue puffs of smoke he would watch escape from the tailpipe of the truck when Daddy left for work in the morning. Daddy had been a good man. Drew turned his attention out the window of Willow’s car. Headlights and streetlights blurred in his vision. He had buried his mother last year. Tara had been his rock. She went with him, back to that hellhole, back to his mother’s house, back to the relatives who stared but didn’t speak. She had offered to pretend to be his girlfriend, and Drew had laughed. He glanced at her now, at her tangled hair and torn shirt, and his blood turned to ice. What had he done? The look she had given him when he opened the car door in the middle of the street had been so cold. He looked at Willow. She stopped at a traffic light, shifted the car into first gear, then drove forward. She didn’t look at the girl in the passenger seat. She hadn’t spoken either. “Your mother is coming back home, Andrew,” Daddy had said. “She’s still sick.” Drew had been quiet. He knew something was wrong with his mother. He knew it wasn’t normal for mothers to say and do horrible things to their little boys. Drew swallowed, but the lump in his throat only hurt worse. What had he done? His father had hummed an old Billie Holiday tune while they drove north to the mental institution. “Now boys may think they take care of girls, just because they’re clever with their fashions and their curls, but I’ve always found, it’s just the other way around…”

He blinked rapidly when the lights of the emergency entrance to the hospital came into view. “No,” he said softly at first, slowly waking from his memories. “No, no no!” he shouted next, twisting in his seat to put a hand on Willow’s shoulder. Tara, sitting in the seat in front of him, was so tense that he could hear every strained breath in and out of her chest. “Stop the car, Willow.” She did, and he slid forward to the edge of the back seat, placing himself nearly on top of the console behind the gearshift. She glanced at him in wonder, and he gently took hold of Tara, one hand at the back of her neck, the other reaching for a hand that had been clenched into a fist. “Breathe, sweetie. Just focus on breathing.”

“Drew,” Willow tried to explain, “she’s hurt. We have to-”

“We do not have to,” he snapped at her, then turned his attention back to Tara. Her breathing had relaxed slightly, but she wouldn’t look at either of them. “Can we just…” he glanced sideways at Willow, regretful of his harsh tone a moment before, “Would you please just drive us back to the house?”

Tara didn’t want to be touched. Drew had tried to help her stand. Willow had tried to steady the shaking girl as they walked up the front steps of the porch. Her body had gone rigid. “I’m fine,” she said through gritted teeth. That was the last either of them saw of her for over an hour.

Now, though the sun was rising and thoughts of sleep had crossed the minds of both of them, Willow and Drew refused to rest. “You can’t sit there all day,” she told him, holding out a hot cup of tea. He smiled and took the mug gratefully. It smelled of bergamot, and his head throbbed for lack of sleep and because of the bruise that was now the color of eggplant around his left eye. “Look at me,” she grinned, sitting on the floor beside him, “trying to chastise you for being the stubborn best friend.” Half a snicker came out of her throat, but her face was pale. “Here’s me, the girl who falls for the woman who doesn’t want to be helped.”

“She’s been like that for a while,” Drew tried to explain, but he didn’t know why he should have to.

“I thought…” the redhead started to say, then shook her head and sipped her tea.

“Let me guess. You thought we would go rescue the maiden in distress, and she would be forever grateful?”

“Well sure,” she grinned, “make it sound ridiculous. So why is it that you look so forlorn? You took a fist for your best friend.”

Drew stared at the pattern of early morning sunlight making its way across the dining room floor. “I broke a promise.” He sipped his tea to ward off the horrible guilt eating away at his stomach. “I’ve kept her secrets for so long, and she always knew she could trust me.” Willow felt him struggling to keep his tears back. “Now that’s all ruined.”

“Ruined because we saved her from… from…” she stuttered, unable to say what she knew had gone on in the frat house. She knew what Tara did four to six nights a week. She knew where the bruises had come from. She knew why Tara was tense when she came home. And now, though she never could have guessed before this day, she suddenly knew why the internship had been so important. It was a way out. “Why did she go to that place?”

Drew faced her, and she frowned at his black eye. “He’s not like the others. Tara,” he paused, not sure how much information Willow could handle, “Tara makes appointments with her clients. They understand the necessity of being discreet. It’s a business transaction based on secrecy.” He cleared his throat, uncertain how to explain the rest. “William-”

“William saved me once,” Tara’s voice came from the stairs, and they both jumped. She was dressed in an old pair of sweats with a towel draped over her shoulders to keep her hair from dripping down her back. “I owe him.” She walked past them into the kitchen. “Are you two hungry? I can make pancakes or something.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Drew jumped up, beating her to the stove. “Stay away from the cooking utensils,” he warned, momentarily forgetting to keep his humor aside. He smiled, then his face fell, and he glanced apologetically toward her.

“You broke a promise, Drew,” she whispered, sorrow dripping from each word. Slowly, awkwardly, she stepped forward and slipped her arms around his neck. “Thank you,” she told him quietly, “but don’t ever do it again.” They hugged each other for a long time, and Willow watched in fascination from the other room. She could hear them whispering little things to each other, but the words were lost in the high ceilings of the old house.

“She’s a pain in the ass,” Drew mumbled into her wet hair.

“I know.”

“She’s falling for you. Hard.”

“I know,” Tara sighed.

“You think she can’t handle the truth, who you are, what you’ve done, but have you seen how she drives?” They giggled against one another, bruises and scrapes smarting under their clothes at the rough contact. “Tell her, Tare.” He felt her body tense. “Tell her everything.” She backed away and looked into his soft, brown eyes, one normal, the other swollen. “Today.” He turned to Willow and announced, “I’m out of here, ladies.”

“Wait,” Willow followed him to the front door. “Your eye,” she held up a hand as if to touch him, then paused with uncertainty. They had met exactly twice.

Drew took her hand in his, then delicately kissed her knuckles. “Darling, I grew up as a flaming fag in a backwater Midwest town. This,” he pointed at his face, “is nothing. And don’t you dare try to whisk me off to a goat farm to make me feel better.” He dropped her hand with a smile, then slipped out the door and into the crisp morning.

Willow waved at him as he strutted down the sidewalk toward the nearest bus stop, then turned around and leaned against the door. Tara was in the kitchen. She could hear her opening cupboards and searching for something. A little voice in her head reminded her that this was not how things were supposed to have gone between them. She pushed it aside and thought back to the night they had shared on the couch watching old movies. That was the night something had caught on fire in her chest. It had grown as the weeks had gone by, and Willow was convinced that it was love. At this very moment, however, it felt much more like heartburn. She forced herself to walk to the kitchen, but her limbs were useless once they’d gotten her that far. She wanted to look at Tara. She wanted to kiss her, hold her, tell her everything would be fine, but she knew the words wouldn’t come. She couldn’t even pull out a chair to sit on.

“Contrary to popular belief,” Tara spoke quickly, “staring at a girl with a black eye is, indeed, quite flattering.” Willow ducked her head, ashamed and stricken by the bitterness in her roommate’s tone. Her right hand gripped the back of one of the chairs by the table, and her knuckles went white from the intensity of her fingertips grinding into the wood. “God, I’m such a bitch,” Tara mumbled in the background, one hand coming to rest on her forehead. She leaned against the counter and felt like being sick. Again.

“You kissed me,” Willow’s voice was thin, stretched tight.

“You wanted me to,” Tara gazed at her.

“Is that what it was?” The redhead wanted to stop the words flowing out of her mouth, but they were stronger than her resolve to be polite. “Am I a client?”

Tara felt the words like a slap in the face, and her eye stung all the worse for it. “Are you trying to become one? Or is this just your way of putting me in my place?” The blonde stepped away from the counter, resting both hands on the edge of the table. “Does it make you feel better to think of me as a whore? Do you feel more powerful now that you know what I really am?” Willow was speechless. Anger poured off Tara in waves, and they crashed over the table and right into the other woman’s face. “Or were you hoping-” Tara’s voice broke, and the sudden new thought which had come to mind shattered her bruised heart. “Were you hoping you could have your own-” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Tears gushed from deep within her, and she sobbed, doubling over onto the tabletop. Willow leaned forward and laid a hand on Tara’s shoulder. “No!” she jerked away, enraged again. The tears still flowed, and her face was red with her pain and anger. “I don’t need to be rescued!” she shouted.

“Tara, I-”

She held up a hand to keep Willow at arm’s length. “This isn’t some st-stupid movie, Willow. I’m not Julia Roberts, and you’re not Richard Gere.” They both thought about the lack of similarity between Willow and the grey-haired man from the film, but decided to let it go. “This was all my choice.”

“I know,” Willow finally had the chance to speak. “I’m not going to say I understand, but I don’t have to.” Tara relaxed enough to drop her hand by her side. She looked at Willow with a little less resentment, and realized that she had vented more than enough for her side of the argument. “Are you still hungry?” Tara was so distracted by the calm question that she could only nod. Willow opened the refrigerator door and started pulling out ingredients. She balanced an armful of eggs and a package of bacon in one arm and lifted the carton of milk out with the other, kicking the door shut with her foot. On her way to the cupboard with the baking ingredients, she pulled out one of the chairs and inclined her head toward Tara, who sat somewhat obediently. Dry ingredients were sifted, milk and eggs were mixed in, and she brought the mixing bowl and old wooden spoon over to the table to sit and stir. “You have a lot of reasons to be upset,” she began, almost as though she was telling a story to a child. “Me? Not so much. The only reason I’m upset is because I care about you.” She stirred with increased vigor as she bared her feelings to the blonde. “You can’t keep me from caring about you, no matter how hard you push me away.” Willow took the bowl to the counter, and then turned the dough out to be rolled flat and cut. She placed the misshapen lumps onto a baking sheet and put them in the oven, and then turned around and faced her quiet roommate, arms crossed over her chest. “So you just have to decide if you can live with that.”

Tara raised her eyebrows. Was that an ultimatum? “If this is an agreement,” her voice was unsteady, still wavering from the tears she had shed, “then is that the only condition?” Her fingers absently traced the worn growth lines in the wood of the table.

Willow sat again, peeking at the oven timer. A burnt breakfast would not lead to good negotiations. “Is it too much to ask for the whole truth?”

“That depends on what I get in return,” Tara sat back, her eyes leveled on the redhead.

“Scrambled eggs, bacon, and fresh scones.” Her face was serious.

Taking a deep breath, Tara did what Drew had instructed. She told Willow everything. “I was a runaway. It started when I was twelve, after Mom died. I would get caught and thrown into some foster home, and every time there would be someone who thought they could fix me,” she sneered. “Most of them were honest, kind people, but I was too angry to let them help me. I never stayed anyplace for longer than six months until I bought this place.” Willow reached for the teapot and poured them two mugs, sliding one across the table to the other woman. She knew that Tara’s childhood had been tough, but Tara had rarely brought anything up apart from good memories of her mother. “I hitch-hiked down the coast of California, caught trains out to the east, begged for money to get back on a Greyhound bus… I saw most of the country without paying for the ride. And begging worked for a while when I was younger, but it only lasted for so long.” She sipped the tea, and it soothed her sore throat. “I came back to Seattle because it’s always been home, but I was out of money and low on options. Donny and his friends were well into ruining the house by that time, and I even crashed here for a couple of nights, but it made me too sad to be this near to Mom.” Tara looked out the windows and focused on the roses Willow had pruned back. The garden hadn’t looked this well-tended since she was a little girl, and it made her smile. “Have you ever been down to Myrtle-Edwards Park?”

“I went there for the Fourth of July last year,” Willow smiled back. The park was a long strip of green grass and an asphalt bicycle path along the water just north of downtown Seattle.

“I slept there for a month the year I came back,” Tara recalled. Her words stole the fireworks from Willow’s vision, and a chill worked its way up her spine. She had been outside at every hour of the day and night, delivering calves, keeping vigil over newborn lambs, scouting for wolves and the occasional bobcat who wandered down out of the foothills of the Cascades, but she could not imagine living in a public park. “I was fourteen. I had hit rock bottom at that point,” she wanted to laugh at the memory, but it was still too near. “I was tired, hungry, cold, and I’m sure I looked like shit. Somehow, though, I caught the attention of a rich boy with a nice haircut.”

“William,” Willow muttered.

“William,” Tara nodded. “He took me to his father’s house and cleaned me up, fed me, bought me clothes. I thought he was my savior.” She shook her head, like it needed the cobwebs cleared from it. “He said he could help me earn money of my own, that he would get me back onto my feet again. All I had to do…” her hands went numb, and she clenched them under the edge of the table. “All I had to do was sleep with his friends. They would pay me, and he would make sure they kept everything a secret.”

Closing her eyes, Willow struggled to keep her emotions in check. “You were fourteen.”

Tara leaned forward, drilling her gaze into Willow until the redhead opened her eyes. “I knew what it was. I knew what it made me.” She sat back again. “My condition was that I wanted to go to school. William had connections. He got me into a private high school, no questions asked. I lived on campus, and he made my appointments.” Willow listened and tried to absorb everything, but she wanted to scream. She wanted to turn back the clock and save the little girl Tara had been. She wanted to erase her past and give her all the joy and happiness she had been deprived of. “We had an…” Tara stiffened, “an argument,” she finally managed to say, “just before I enrolled in college. William agreed to let me take my career into my own hands.”

“But he makes you go back to him whenever he… wants you,” Willow finished for her.

“So you know I can’t say no.”

“He’ll expose you.”

“It’s worse than that,” Tara shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “His father is the Dean of the Liberal Arts College within the UW.” Willow busied herself about the kitchen for a few quiet minutes. She pulled the scones out and let them cool, and she set the bacon and eggs cooking on the stovetop. “I actually quit for a while,” Tara went on, hoping that her roommate wasn’t on emotional overload from everything she had been told. “I had this really awful part-time job as a waitress,” she grinned. “Minimum wage plus tips to be a servant who gets her ass grabbed between the booths in the lounge at Denny’s… I would have kept doing it, too, but I couldn’t make enough money to pay for everything. Then the house went into foreclosure, and Donny skipped town. I had saved a few thousand dollars over the years, and everything went into a savings account for school. I took what was in my college account and made the down payment, and then I called up all my old clients and started making appointments again.”

Piling up two plates with enough food for six people, Willow set everything down on the table and handed Tara silverware. They cut into the hot scones and loaded them with butter, munching in silence. “Do you still want to quit?” Willow asked without looking at the girl across the table.

“I’m in my last year. I just need to get through the next few months…”

A hand found its way across the distance, landing gently on the back of Tara’s long fingers. She looked up, and the green eyes staring back were all she could see. “The whole truth.”

“I don’t even admit the whole truth to myself, Will.” Her heartbeat picked up when she heard herself say the affectionate name Willow had asked her to use.

Drew lifted the pillow off the back of his head and peered at the numbers on his bedside alarm clock with one eye. 11:17 AM. He groaned. The doorbell rang again. Mentally cursing at the unknown person who dared to remove him from his much needed slumber, he rolled out of the warm bed and made his way down the hall to the front door. The little silver box on the wall held a single speaker, below which was a glowing button. He pushed it and leaned against the wall. “Were all the 911 lines busy?”

“I need your help,” the scratchy voice behind the speaker answered.

He knew that voice. Squinting at the little button in the darkness of the hallway, he tried to focus on who it could be. He pushed it again. “Willow?” His finger skipped to the black button below the glowing one, and the front door, four flights below him, unlocked. Drew ran his fingers through his hair and opened the front door of his apartment. Willow didn’t look much better when she rounded the corner from the freight elevator. She was carrying two cups of coffee, both steaming. He held the door open for her, and they hugged once she was inside. “Have you slept at all?”

“I tried,” she shrugged out of her old coat after passing the drinks to him, and then followed him into the living room. They flopped onto the huge, blue sectional overlooking the view of downtown. She looked around, and marveled at the cleanliness of the recent party scene. “Do you have a maid or something? There must have been a hundred people here last night.”

Drew smirked. “I don’t invite anyone who isn’t worthy.” Willow giggled at him. “If you want the social connections I offer, you’d better know how to throw away your own cocktail napkin.”

“How’s your eye?”

He reached up to feel the swelling, wincing at the instant pain. “Peachy. How’s Tara?” The lack of response was exactly as he had expected. “So now you know everything, and you’re here to convince me that we need to get her to stop working.”

Willow’s face flushed, and she felt completely transparent. She cleared her throat and set the coffee cup down on the table in front of them. “Do you have a script I should be reading from?” Drew smiled. Her heart was a little too big, but she was quick to catch on. “I’m not the first, am I,” she said, then looked out the window again. It hadn’t come out as a question, and she didn’t really want the answer.

“I’m the only relationship she’s ever had.” He lifted his feet onto the table and let his head fall back. “Tara has rules. No dates, no women, and no drinking outside of her place or mine, just so the first two rules don’t get compromised.” He lifted his head long enough to sip his coffee and glance at the redhead beside him. “You’re the original sin, baby.” He felt her breathing change, which confirmed his suspicion that the previous evening’s events had not been enough to dissuade her from what she truly wanted. “You’re really falling for her, aren’t you,” he said, also not asking, and not needing an answer. Willow’s head dropped, and a tear fell from her nose to the right knee of her worn out jeans. Drew slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close to him. She smiled up at him and held the tears back for a moment, but they overtook her in one big sob, and she leaned into his shoulder hard, shaking with the release of all her suddenly unrestrained emotions. “Shh,” he took hold of her with his other arm and rocked her slowly.


	13. Chapter 13

Thick, grey clouds rolled over the top of Hurricane Ridge, the tallest peak of the Olympic Mountain range. Tara stared at them from the other side of Puget Sound. She sat forward on the park bench and wrapped her coat snugly around herself to ward off the chill that the light rain was bringing on. She looked left and saw a ferry depart from Coleman dock in downtown Seattle. It was bound for Bremerton or Bainbridge Island. She breathed in, then held her breath for a moment, hoping that it would calm her racing heartbeat. Everything had fallen apart in such a short time that Tara no longer knew what would happen from one moment to the next. She always planned everything. She kept things in order because it made her feel better. The old house was the only thing exempt from that rule. Her mind drifted to the useless tub in her downstairs bathroom, and her head fell forward into her hands. Tara didn’t have any tears left. Crying didn’t accomplish anything anyway, she told herself. She lifted her gaze and tried to focus on the tiny boats on the far side of the water.

Willow unlocked the back door and walked into the kitchen, looking for any sign of Tara. Everything was quiet. She breathed a quick sigh of relief, then frowned at herself for doing so. She would have to find a way to get over what had happened. Her brain had been spinning all day with things she could never have guessed, things she never wanted to know. Willow set her keys down on the table and looked around the corner at the empty dining room. Her eyes caught sight of the wires dangling from the ceiling.

Tara picked up the paper cup of coffee from the bench and took a sip. She grimaced and set it back down. Cold coffee was not what she wanted or needed. The wind lifted a pile of dried maple leaves from the dusty trail in front of her. The leaves caught in the grass a few feet nearer the edge of the sandy bluffs. Her eyes stayed focused on them as she thought back to the first time she had come to Discovery Park when she was little. The main walking path through the park was about three miles long, which is a big trek for a little girl. Her mother had sat with her on this very same bench that day, and they rested their weary feet while they watched a pair of herons fly out over the water. Tara squeezed her hands under her thighs and swung her legs below the bench just as she had done when she was six. The weather around her grew colder and damper, but she couldn’t bring herself to head for home just yet.

Willow fumbled with the flashlight as she descended the basement steps. She headed straight for the breaker panel on the far wall. The beam of light hovered over the poorly labeled switches, and she wondered in vain which one she needed to turn off. She made a guess, flipped the switch, then climbed back up to the main floor of the house and up the four steps to the top of the ladder in the dining room. Her right hand reached into her pocket and pulled out a small tool. She touched it to the bare wires and waited for the beeping sound to indicate that the wires were still hot. No sound came, so she cautiously touched the black wire, praying that it was dead. She breathed freely after the tense moment was over, and then focused on the wiring that was jumbled together in the junction box in the ceiling. The chandelier which had originally hung in that location rested on the table in the kitchen. It had taken her two weeks, but it was rewired and ready to be reinstalled.

Too cold to feel her own fingertips, Tara finally stood up from the park bench. It wasn’t late, but sunset had come and gone, and her surroundings were now very dark. She wandered off down the trail, barely able to see where it was beyond a few steps.

Willow pulled the ladder back and stood by the wall where the light switch was. She mentally prepared herself for a popping sound, for the breaker to blow, for sparks of light. She’d done her fair share of wiring, but old houses were unpredictable, and she knew that there was a chance this wouldn’t work. Her eyes pressed shut and she flipped the switch. The room was bathed in light, and it made its way through her eyelids until she opened them and gazed at the beautiful antique chandelier that Tara had saved for countless years. Her heart thumped dramatically in her chest, and she wished Tara was there to witness the sight with her. She glanced at the clock in the living room and frowned. Where was Tara anyway?

Not more than a few miles away in Magnolia, Tara walked at a steady pace. Her hands were jammed well into her pockets to keep them warm, but she was determined. A little cold, damp weather would not send her away from her destination tonight. Streetlamps every block or so lit her path now that she was well beyond the boundaries of the park. Magnolia had been an island before three bridges were built to unify it with the rest of North Seattle. Like an island, however, the houses built upon it were proud and expensive. Tara’s eyes switched from left to right, taking in stone facades, elaborate window trim, and elegant landscaping. Even the smallest houses were worth more than she could imagine spending on a place to live. She brushed her hair from her face and adjusted her favorite, blue scarf as she trekked on. Her own house was a labor of love, one which she had allowed to get the better of her as the years raced by. Money had been the problem from day one, and it hadn’t changed one bit. Her feet kept her pace steady, and she darted from the left side of the street to the right as the roadway curved away from the houses and brought her back out into view of the city lights. Magnolia Boulevard was a long, winding road with nothing but good views. It was lined with a greenbelt that contained benches to pause and contemplate upon as you made your way to the heart of the neighborhood, the Village, as it was called by the locals. Tara let her eyes rest on the lights of the Seahawk’s stadium, Qwest Field, just south of downtown. Its white arches were lit green and red for the approaching holiday season. Next week would be Thanksgiving.

“She hasn’t called you?” Willow asked in a panicked voice.

“No,” Drew answered from the other end of the phone line. “Calm down, Willow. She probably just went out to clear her head. It’s been a long weekend for all of us.”

The redhead paced the kitchen floor, turning just before she would collide with the oven. “It’s late. It’s cold out. Why aren’t you worried?”

“I am,” he tried to reason with her, “but if she’s in trouble, she has a cell phone.”

“A cell phone that is switched off,” Willow raised her free hand in disgust.

“And it is probably switched off because she doesn’t want to talk.” Willow sat down on one of the chairs by the dining table. She exhaled loudly. “I know you’re worried, but you need to let her figure things out in her own head. I know Tara. She will be back.”

Tara stared out at the black water of Elliot Bay. The moon slipped behind a cloud, and the whole world was pitched into darkness. The glow of city lights to her left grew brighter in the dim setting. She turned her head and looked up at the Seattle P-I Globe, lit with neon, spinning gently atop the newspaper building as it had for more years than she knew. Tara sighed and turned her attention back to the park she was standing in. The sidewalks in Magnolia had led her along the Burlington-Northern-Santa-Fe railway line that ran north to south along the Puget Sound coastline. A trail had been built there many years before, and bicyclists would begin commuting along it to jobs and classes in a matter of hours. It was approaching midnight. Tara stood atop a retaining wall of large rocks. Below her was a tiny sandy strip, less than twelve feet from the water’s edge when the tide was out. The tide was in tonight, so she couldn’t descend further without getting wet. She knew how cold the water would be, and she had resolved that standing where her feet were now was good enough. This had been her home once. She closed her eyes and remembered the cold nights and colder mornings, and her stomach rumbled as if to remind her that she was no longer a runaway teen with no money and nowhere to sleep. She opened her eyes and lowered herself onto the flattest stone she could find.

Willow hesitated. She didn’t want to do anything she would regret, but impatience was nagging at her with a frequency she could not ignore any longer. Her hand had been resting on the doorknob for a good five minutes already. In or out, anything was better than the purgatory she had created for herself in the dark, cramped hallway of the old house. Her hand twisted, and she reached for the light switch inside. Tara’s room was flooded with light. Willow slowly walked to the bed, allowing her hand to drift along the perfectly folded blanket at the foot of it. She crept up to the side where a little table stood. A lamp with a silver base and an antique glass shade sat on the side nearest the bed. Beside it was an alarm clock, backlit green. Her fingers played at the edge of the book Tara read a little of each night before bed, The Botany of Desire. Willow smiled. She had given the book to Tara a week before, hoping that the prose and history within would appeal to her, and perhaps she might begin to see the plant world as Willow did. She sat delicately, worried that her trespass would be easily detected when Tara saw the covers of her bed disturbed. She sighed and glanced at the alarm clock. It was midnight, and Tara had still not come home.

Cold and hungry, Tara folded herself up tighter against the wind. Her legs were crossed beneath her, and her arms were wrapped firmly around her middle. She had done this before, but it had been so long ago. Her body was beginning to remember, but it still cried out for the comforts of the home she had created for herself.

Willow let her face fall into her hands, and she brushed away the tears that had started to trickle down her cheeks. Giving in to her need, she leaned sideways until her head rested on Tara’s pillow. It smelled like her, like wildflower honey and jasmine. Willow buried her face in the pillow and breathed deeply.

As though an arctic wind had blown through her wool coat, Tara was suddenly aware of someone behind her. She sat up sharply and turned. A man in loose, stained clothes stood at the edge of the paved trail. His face was worn from age and the elements, and his reddish hair was cropped short. He smiled at her. “S’cuse me, ma’am. You got a buck fifty to spare?”

She stood and faced the man, noting that his accent was very out of place. “I don’t…” her voice trailed off.

“I’m not from around here,” he went on. His green eyes shifted from left to right, then back to her face. Something in the way he moved set off alarm bells in Tara’s head. “I’m from Boston, y’know. We can’t pronounce our r’s right.” The letter “r” had come out as more of an “ah.” He held out a hand, as if ready to receive a handout.

Tara shook her head slowly. “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything.” She wasn’t lying. Her pockets were empty, save a single key to the front door of her house.

Willow’s eyes landed on something lost between the top sheet and the duvet cover of Tara’s bed, and her hand reached in to retrieve it. The cool, black plastic of Tara’s cell phone felt strangely heavy in her hand. It had been switched off. She sat up quickly, feeling her heart jump into her throat.

“You ain’t got nothin’?” he asked again, stepping closer. “I’m a vet.”

Tara’s brain diverted momentarily and allowed itself to wonder if he meant the kind of vet who tended to animals or the kind who had served in a war far away. She squelched the urge to ask. “Look, I’m very sorry, but I don’t have any money.”

“You got nothin’ in that nice coat there?” he pointed at her, stepping closer again.

Tara nudged her feet to the left, trying to position herself away from the rocky edge she had been sitting on a moment earlier. The man’s tone had quickly become accusatory, and she knew where this was going. “I’ve already told you,” she leveled with him, “I don’t have money. I think you need to go.”

“I need to go?” he shouted. “I need to go? You don’t tell me when to go, lady!” He took two steps nearer, bringing him almost within arm’s reach of the blonde.

Stepping further left, Tara looked right into his eyes, holding him with a glare she reserved for only the most extreme moments. “You don’t just walk up to a woman in the middle of the night and demand money,” she fired back. Anger and fear boiled in the pit of her stomach. She knew he was unstable, and she knew what her chances against him were. “So I’m telling you it’s time for you to go.” Her words were not a suggestion. They were an order.

Enraged by what she had said, the man pointed viciously at her, and Tara briefly thought that she had gone too far. “You don’t tell me what to do!” he screamed. “I could fuck you up right now, god-dammit!” Tara held her ground and stared at him, refusing to blink or look away. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her hands were balled into fists in her pockets. His hand quivered in the air between them, and she watched his chest heave with his breathing. They stood facing one another for what felt like an eternity, and then, quite inexplicably, the man turned and walked away, moving deeper into the park and away from the city lights. Tara watched him go, shaking slightly.

A light beam flashed behind her, and her eyes moved to follow it. “Tara?” a voice called out, and she realized that the person who had spoken was carrying a flashlight. The dark figure rushed forward, and she saw Willow’s face come into focus. “Are you alright?” She stopped mere inches from the blonde, afraid to move closer.

Tara let out a faint cry, then reached forward and flung her arms around the redhead. She crashed into Willow with such force that the flashlight was dropped, and it clattered loudly on the pavement. “You’re here,” she whispered. She pressed herself into the redhead’s body, and they both felt her tremble. “How did you know?”

Willow pulled the blonde close and drank in the scent of her. “I’ve been worried all night. I found your phone…” she stopped speaking and hugged Tara with all of her strength, grateful to have found her so quickly. “You mentioned this place when we talked. I hoped you’d be here, but I didn’t know.” Their grip on one another relaxed slightly, and Tara lifted her head from Willow’s shoulder to gaze into her green eyes. “Are you okay?” Tara nodded. She couldn’t speak just yet. Tears were silently slipping from her eyes and onto Willow’s sweatshirt. They splashed and then sank into the soft cotton. Willow reached a hand up to wipe a tear from the other girl’s face, then pressed her lips into Tara’s before she could tell herself not to. They kissed softly, their lips gently pressing into one another, until Tara’s shaking ceased. Willow’s forehead rested against hers affectionately, and she stroked Tara’s long hair as they held onto one another.

“You still-”

“I still,” Willow answered the question before Tara could finish it. Her tone was resolved. “I’m not about to let you go that easy.”

Tara started to feel the warmth of Willow’s body seep into her own, and she relaxed into it. Since they had met, this had happened more and more. Tara would need comforting, and Willow would be there with open arms. She suddenly felt very silly for doubting whether the girl would stick around, but she didn’t let her mind get carried away with what they were, nor with what they could be. She held onto Willow and to that moment with all her might.


	14. Chapter 14

Tara stepped out of the car and glanced at… She stopped herself. Girlfriend? Soon to be lover? What had they become? What was she supposed to call this relationship? Her eyes flitted nervously over the curves and shapes of Willow’s body; her sweatshirt hanging loosely over thin shoulders, jeans that slipped low on her hips, the angle of the back of her neck which was barely visible in the dewy light of the streetlamp. Her heart fluttered in her chest, and she choked a little on the sweet odor of diesel from Willow’s car. Scenes from past conversations replayed themselves in her mind. She saw Willow resting against the kitchen countertop with a mug of tea warming her hands. They chatted in front of the television, the black and white light from a movie illuminating their faces in the dark. Neither of them could have kept this from happening, she reasoned. Her heart had been begging for more of the redhead from the first moment they had met.

“Hey,” a soothing voice brought Tara’s eyes back into focus in the present. Willow was standing in front of her. “You okay?” They stood awkwardly in the street. It was one AM. Tara tried to nod, but her brow furrowed. The words wouldn’t come. “Yeah,” Willow continued pensively, “me, too.” She stepped to the side, slipping her hand into Tara’s, and nudged her gently. Her head inclined toward the front porch, and they began to walk. Together. Holding hands. The sidewalk was a different place. Each step leading to the porch was an epic feat. They paused in front of the door. “I never thought we’d get here,” Willow said.

“The front door?” Tara knew what Willow meant, but she couldn’t stop herself from stating the obvious. She glanced sideways at the redhead, feeling irreconcilably guilty and relieved at the same time.

“That, too, I guess,” Willow glanced back. Their hands stayed together, as if that was the only thing holding them both up, keeping them on their feet. Tara thought about the key in her right pocket, but Willow’s hand was so warm and felt so right. The door was unlocked and open before she even remembered that they both had a key.

She was staring. Her eyes were locked on Willow’s eyes. Suddenly self-conscious and fearing that she looked idiotic, Tara ducked her head and dove over the threshold. Her lips started moving before she’d even considered her words. “Thank you for b-bringing me home. I don’t know wh-what I was thinking being out alone like that.” Willow felt the blonde’s hand slip out of her own before she could catch up. She walked slowly behind, equally confused about what they had become, what their kiss had meant. Tara was talking about something, but the words didn’t seem to make much sense. Absently, as if in a dream, Willow moved toward the light switch in the dining room. Her fingers flipped the switch upward, bathing the house in bright light. Everything stopped. Their world fell into silence, and Willow turned toward Tara. The blonde looked around, taking in every detail, every nuance of her home, as if this were the first time she had stood in that dining room. After turning around fully, her eyes rested on Willow. “You fixed it.” The redhead nodded. “You fixed the chandelier.” Tara looked up at the fixture. Her eyes blinked back the bright light and tears filled her vision.

“I hoped you’d like it,” Willow remarked shyly. Tara moved to the light switch and flipped it off, plunging the house into darkness. The dim light from the front porch streamed in through the glass in the front door. Her fingers lifted the switch, and they were once again blinded by the shimmering light from the chandelier. Off. On. Off. On. Willow smiled. Tara’s eyes didn’t move from the light. She was fascinated. “Um,” Willow tried to catch the blonde’s attention by moving closer, “does it look like it did before?”

Tara slowly turned her head and saw Willow beside her. Though they were both illuminated from the glow of the chandelier, a different type of glow had settled in her cheeks, filling her from within. Leaving the light on, she let her arm fall to her side. She felt a little self-conscious from her silly light switch game. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Oh,” Willow shook her head, “you don’t need to. I like fixing things.” She turned towards the stairs, uncertain about how to deal with all the unspoken things hanging in the air between them “Anyway, I know you must be tired…”

“Right,” Tara answered a little too quickly. “Tired.” She nodded. They each stood still, unable to part, unable to figure out how to speak. “So… bed,” Tara finally managed to say. Her mind was filled with thoughts of them together, side by side, wrapped in blankets. It even drifted further, to images of grasping hands and exposed skin, hot breath on the back of her shoulder, the feel of her lips on…

“Um…” Willow’s voice interrupted Tara’s thoughts, for which she was both grateful and annoyed. “I know we’re not… like…. I mean, you and I are…. Well,” her voice trailed off.

“Me too,” Tara finally let the words out. Their eyes met, and they both smiled. They sighed simultaneously. “How about we just… sleep?”

“Sleep,” Willow repeated.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Okay, sure.” She bit her lip and leaned against the railing of the stairway. Her hands were cold and shaking. Where was the nerve she’d had when she went looking for Tara an hour earlier?

Tara slowly reached for the light switch and turned the dining room chandelier off. Her footsteps were the only thing she could hear as she crossed the hardwood floor to the hallway where Willow was waiting. Enough light came through the windows that they could see silhouettes of one another in the darkness. The doorknob in Tara’s hand was cold to the touch. She wondered how everything could move so slowly when she’d done this very same thing so many times before. She’s been in my room. We’ve touched. We’ve kissed. But this…. This feels different. She glanced at the redhead, then reached for her hand and pulled her into the bedroom.

Drew turned the pages of his magazine one at a time, but with a vicious flip of his hand. His eyes stared at the pages, but it was clear that he was neither reading nor appreciating anything that GQ had to offer.

“You’re still not getting anything out of me,” Tara mumbled, equally engrossed in a National Geographic.

“I suppose the term best friend means nothing to you, now that you have a girlfriend.” He flipped another page, tearing the bottom edge of the magazine. Guilt colored his face slightly, but no one in the salon seemed to notice. Hair stylists chatted, phones rang, a group of teenaged girls giggled in the far corner, but Tara refused to take the bait. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve been there for you for everything you’ve-”

“Okay, dammit!” she turned toward him, slamming the yellow magazine down on the table between them. “I suppose an ounce of privacy is too much to ask for, right?” Drew smirked and folded his hands in his lap. The victorious look on his face made her want to growl at him. “We slept. There. Happy?” She raised her eyebrows in defiance.

“It’s so cute that you really think you can get away with not giving me details,” Drew rolled his eyes. “Now come on. Spill it. All of it.”

Tara sighed, letting her head back fall against the uncomfortable plastic of the molded seat in the salon. “You think I’m not telling you the truth, but I am. She found me in the park, we kissed, she drove us home, we talked about the chandelier, we got into bed, and we fell asleep.” She turned to face him, “Really, just like that.”

Drew continued to flip through GQ, staring at the photos of gorgeous men. When he was much younger, he’d thought the title of the magazine meant Gay Queer. It still fit. “Do you have any idea what you just said?” Tara’s eyes wandered as she thought about his question. “You said, ‘she drove us home.’”

“She did,” Tara wrinkled her nose at him.

Throwing the magazine in dramatic fashion, he took her hand in his own and smiled like she had never seen him do. “This is great!” he bounced in his seat. “You’re using the word us so naturally!”

“Andrew and Tara?” a young woman in a white coat called their names from a hallway to the left. She smiled at them when they stood and led them back to a manicure station. They each settled down beside one another, ready for a little relaxation and pampering. Tara tried not to notice the signs of neglect in her nails. She glanced over at her friend and smiled as the manicurist tried, unsuccessfully, to hit on him.

“So you’re still maintaining that nothing happened last night?”

Tara felt herself blush and wished that she could stop the color from showing in her cheeks. She felt a little awkward discussing her sex life in front of the women tending to their fingernails, but she knew Drew wouldn’t let it go. “Look. It was sweet and romantic and perfectly innocent. For once in your life, Drew, could you just believe that not everybody screws every time they turn off the lights? I mean, really,” she went on, “I know it’s obvious to you that we’re attracted to each other and that we want to do more than just sleep-”

“Obvious isn’t the word,” he muttered.

She tried to ignore him. “I just want this to be… perfect.”

“It will be, sweetie,” he sighed. “That girl is the biggest romantic fool I’ve ever met. I don’t think she could rush things if you gave her every opportunity in the world.” They both smiled. He did know Willow. They both did. “So…” he wiggled his eyebrows at his best friend.

Tara resigned herself to everything she had been feeling but trying desperately to ignore for the last eighteen hours. She had endured three classes, worked furiously on her multi-text synthesis essay, read half a book she genuinely wasn’t interested in, but needed to understand, for her Contemporary Literature class, and she had done everything in her power not to let her mind drift anywhere near thoughts of Willow. Her efforts were in vain. “Apart from kissing her,” she began, “it was the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt.” Tara’s glow was interrupted by the manicurist who sat opposite her. She frowned when the woman cleaned up her cuticles with sharp snips of her little scissors.

“So then… have you two talked yet?” Drew’s eyes were soft. He was trying hard not to be the accusing type Tara sometimes complained he was. “I mean, have you had that conversation?” 

Tara looked at her hands and folded under the pressure she’d been trying to ignore. “I’m terrified of that conversation. She’s going to want me to stop. I want me to stop.”

“You know you have to.”

“I know I have to cover my mortgage payments, too. And it’s not like I’ve got anything else lined up that’s going to pay the bills.”

“If this was just about money,” Drew stared at her hard enough to make her meet his eyes, “then I would have cut you a check a long time ago.” Tara felt her stomach churn. She knew he was right. She did need money: mountains of money. Between the cost of school and owning a home she really couldn’t afford, Tara had gotten herself in over her head. She’d put aside her needs for other things, her desires for the normal life of a college student, all for the sake of having her name on a house that was falling apart around her. She’d struck out on her own, independent, in charge of her own life, only to realize that she couldn’t keep her head above water.

“But this is bigger,” Drew cleared his throat. “We have to find a way of dealing with William.”

Willow polished the barrel of the old rifle with practiced strokes. Bengt had watched her clean it twice. He ran his fingers through his curly beard and reached for the steaming cup of coffee on his workbench. He drank the strong beverage and set it back into the soft sawdust that sneaked its way into every crevice and surface in that corner of the old barn. They’d come here frequently when Willow had managed the farm for them. Bengt had showed her everything he knew about keeping up the old farm tractors and equipment. She’d shown him a thing or two about engines. It was a friendship of quiet nods and few words. “You’re starting to worry me.” She looked up, her hands paused over the safety catch on the weapon. “You’re holding that gun like you want to aim it.”

She set the rifle down on the workbench, suddenly conscious of how obsessed she had looked. “I’m calm.”

“I think you’ve got yourself pretty wound up.”

“I need a solution, and I can’t even wrap my head around the problem.” She shifted on the wooden crate she was using as a seat.

“You think that old twelve gauge is gonna solve it?” 

Willow ducked her head, ashamed of how easily he had seen through her. “You know I wouldn’t.”

“I know you’re desperate.” She glanced up at him. “I’m guessing that girl isn’t as available as you’d like?”

The redhead stood up and paced around in the straw. “Is it written all over my face or something?”

Bengt sighed. “You wear your emotions in your eyes, in your actions. I’ve never known someone as honest as you are, Willow.” He leaned back against the edge of the workbench and stretched slowly. “Do you remember that spreadsheet you created to organize the crop and grazing rotations?” Willow nodded. “We must have agonized over that problem for three years before you showed up and mapped the whole thing out on your computer.” He chuckled softly at the memory. “It’s why we hired you. Luna said you were good with the animals, but it was your ability to do the impossible that impressed me.” Willow had never heard so many words come from his mouth in the entire time they’d known one another. He leaned forward and picked up the rifle. “This belonged to Luna’s father. He used it to hunt. We use it to cull. Every animal’s life which is taken by it is done so with respect. That’s the only way I’ll allow it to be used.” He stood and hung it on the wall beside his other tools. Shovels and spades swung gently in the crisp, autumn air. Their edges had been sharpened, their handles had been oiled. Life on the farm was winding down for the winter.

“There’s a guy,” Willow began. “He’s been hurting her.”

Bengt picked up a pair of pruners and began to sharpen them. “Does she want to leave him?”

“Of course,” she looked at him. Their eyes met, and she realized she didn’t really know the answer to his question. Tara hadn’t said those exact words. “But he’s not going to let her go.”

Bengt placed his tools on the bench, wiped his hands on his jeans, then stood. “Then you’re going to need a strategy.” He looked directly at her until she met his gaze. “I know enough about where you came from, Willow. Farming is a new skillset for you, and you pick things up quickly. But the world you left behind never fully let go of you.” Willow held Bengt’s eyes with her own while he spoke, but her breathing was forced and shaky. She fought to keep her skin from flushing, to keep her heartrate steady. He couldn’t know. There was no way she had left any kind of trail to give him that information. She had been careful. Bengt reached high above his workbench and pulled down a dusty cardboard box. He placed it on the worn counter and opened it, rummaging around inside the box before pulling out a small envelope. He handed it to her and placed a firm hand on her shoulder. He faced the open door of the barn and looked out over the west fields, flushing green with their cover crop of oats and peas. “You owe me nothing. No explanation. This has never changed how I see you.” He took a deep breath while Willow opened the envelope and pulled the clipped newspaper article from within. “You are a smart woman,” he continued. “If you set your mind to cultivate the earth and live as Luna and I have chosen, you will be successful, and you will find happiness. I have no doubt of this.” He released her shoulder. Willow’s hand shook as she read the article. The date was from four years in the past. “If I had the ability to do what you can, I would not speak of it.” He cleared his throat. “But I would act with my gifts as you have with your own, and I would use this power to set things right in the world around me.” He walked slowly toward the barn door. “Luna knows nothing of this. I will not speak of it again.”


	15. Chapter 15

“A strategy?” Drew lowered one eyebrow and raised the other. She wondered sometimes how he did things like that.

“What’s with the repeating?” she snapped. “Yes, a strategy.”

“You’ve been watching too many old black and white detective movies,” Drew tossed the kitchen towel onto the counter and brushed flour from his apron. He bent over Tara’s shoulder to whisper in her ear, “How about you get farm girl to toss him in with the yak herd?”

Tara slapped him away but couldn’t resist giggling. “You dork.”

He reached for the wine bottle and refilled their glasses. “How come Willow’s not here tonight?” He frowned a little, disappointed at his lack of audience. Drew had surrounded himself with people from the moment he left the countryside to become a college student. He was lonely and morose without a crowd around him. Tara was the only person he ever devoted himself to in this way.

Tara sipped her wine and slumped her way to the huge couch in the living room. Her head fell back against the cushions. “She said she had some work to do.” She smiled in her lop-sided way, half drunk and completely in love. The school week had flown by in a blur of frantic studying, writing, editing, re-writing, and more studying. Final exams for the fall quarter would begin on Monday, and Tara had no intention of staying sober long enough to worry about it. It was Friday, Drew was in full-blown holiday baking mode, and Tara was the guinea pig assigned to test his creations. She and Willow hadn’t spent more than an hour together since Sunday night, apart from one night of weakness. Last night. Tara bit her bottom lip to ward off the memory. There had been an intense need between them both, a hunger that flared brighter and with more ferocity the more she had tried to study. Willow had crept into the bedroom, making a soft nest for herself in the abandoned pillow beside Tara’s pile of books. There was no need for words, no persuasion to put down the highlighter, no request to let the binder of notes fall to the floor below. Willow had waited and observed as the blonde fought her own sense of responsibility. It dissolved in a flurry of lined notebook paper and eager kisses. Tara took a too large gulp of wine to quiet the rising heat in places she fully intended to ignore. That was one moment she was keeping for herself. She felt a nagging ache of guilt as her best friend sipped his own wine from the edge of the kitchen, but she hastily reminded herself that best friends don’t need to know every detail of each other’s lives. After all, they had stopped. No, she had stopped them. She averted her eyes from the face of that moment, unable to look at her own failure fully. Willow had soothed her, promised her that she understood. Perhaps that had made it more difficult then and there, but here, nearly a full day later, Tara sank into the softness of the couch, into the comfort that Willow’s love provided. She breathed and brought her attention back to the present, back to her time of playful fun and enjoyment with Drew. “I won’t see her until Monday after class.” She tried to pout by jutting out her bottom lip, but she quickly dissolved into a fit of giggles.

“No more merlot for you, Betty Ford,” Drew wagged a finger at her, secretly pleased to have his friend all to himself for the whole weekend. Sure, an audience was great, but a best friend who you can drink wine in your pajamas with would be even better. They’d been planning this time for weeks, and, as much as he had grown to love Willow, he was glad not to have to explain all of their inside jokes for a few days. “You know what she’s doing,” he tempted her curiosity with a knowing stare. 

Tara blinked back. “If you’re about to tell me something that’s designed to make me jealous, it won’t work.”

“Are you implying a relationship built on trust is developing?” he drilled into her with his no-nonsense stare. Tara squirmed uncomfortably at his words. “I’m sorry,” he winced. “I didn’t mean-”

“But you’re right,” she nodded, reaching for her glass once more. “I trust her, but I haven’t given her any reason to trust me.” She drained the wineglass and eyed the last drop hungrily. Drew’s cell phone rang. He made a gagging gesture that got Tara to giggle again, and he took off to find the device. She listened to him coo and laugh to someone on the other end, and her mind drifted off while she stared at the elusive red drop of merlot. The phone was suddenly thrust to her ear, and she heard Willow’s voice. “What?” she turned toward Drew, nearly dropping the phone since she didn’t realize that he had handed it off to her shoulder.

Willow repeated herself. “Your phone is here, Tara. You must have forgotten it when you took off for the bus.”

She smiled and let the wine work its way into her sore muscles and tired skin. “Oh, that’s not a big deal.” She would never be so relaxed were it not for the bottle of wine she had supposedly split with her best friend. “Just put it somewhere I can find it when I get home.”

“I’m sorry,” Willow began, but she could tell that Tara couldn’t hear the emotion in her voice. “I’m sorry I can’t spend the weekend with you.”

“It’s alright. We’ll make up the time later.” The blonde did her best to shove thoughts of exams and papers as far away as she could.

Drew wandered through with a glass of water to sober up the girl on his couch. He needed her awake to taste his pavlova. He took the phone too swiftly for Tara to react and held it to his own ear. “If she doesn’t stop guzzling all my good wine I’ll send her back to you so that you can hold her hair when she pukes. Honestly. Don’t you two ever have any fun together?” He heard her laugh on the other end, then he walked into the kitchen under the guise of preparing dinner. “Is everything okay?” he asked.

Willow felt herself twitch at his intuition, but she knew he couldn’t see her reaction. “It’s fine. I’m trying to… I’m just figuring some stuff out right now, and I need a little time to get it put together.” She felt him listening, as if he was waiting for more. “There’s a job I’m thinking about.”

“Is that all?” he relaxed. “I was getting concerned that…” He glanced at Tara in the other room, making sure his voice wasn’t too loud. “… that you needed space away from Tare.”

“What?” Willow stood up, as if her motions added to the conversation. “No! Not at all!” She looked at the cell phone she was talking into and wondered for a moment how this whole thing must appear. “I just know she needed to relax, and I’m pretty amped up about this… job.”

“No worries,” Drew soothed. “Are you trying to surprise her or something? She didn’t mention-”

“Right,” Willow dropped her forehead into her other hand and rubbed at the headache that was forming there. “Um, you know… I didn’t want to get her hopes up. I mean, this job thing is sort of competitive, and I wouldn’t want to assume I’ll get it.”

Drew stirred his alfredo sauce and scowled at the phone. He wasn’t getting the whole truth, but it was obvious Willow wasn’t about to spill to him tonight. He let her go with promises that he would take good care of Tara, but he began to fear that perhaps he was the only one attending to that duty.

Willow walked at a brisk pace, smiling at the cool air on her skin. It was cloudy, but that seemed appropriate for the end of November. Each breath pulled the scent of salt, drying seaweed, and exhaust from cars into her lungs. The tall, old buildings of Seattle’s waterfront loomed before her as she made her way down toward the aquarium and Pier 57, one of the most popular summertime tourist spots in the city. The split wood pier below her feet was weathered and gray. Years before, she’d come to this very spot for an outdoor concert. The city put an end to that kind of fun when the pier was overloaded by jumping, crazed fans. They’d closed it to concerts after a report about structural instability hit the major papers. She squinted at the width of Elliot Bay before her and wondered if everything was eventually destined to find its way back to the sea. Behind her, the noise of the Alaskan Way Viaduct thrummed with trucks and commuter buses. It was falling toward the water, too. 

Sighing, she glanced at her watch. It was still early, but she knew it was time to start wandering back into town. Willow darted across the street and under the leafless maples that lined Marion Street. She turned at Post Alley and headed south between the brick buildings and retired factories of Pioneer Square. The bark of a pair of sycamores on Yesler Way caught her fingers as she passed. Even here, in the heart of urban life, she could still find green. She stopped to wait for a light across First Avenue and spied a still figure sleeping under the Pergola in Pioneer Square. The image of a young, homeless Tara still haunted her as she walked on. Had she taken these same steps? Did this doorway once provide shelter or comfort? Willow wrapped her cotton duck barn coat around her more tightly, wishing she could drive out the cold in her bones. She desperately wanted to fix Tara’s past, but she knew they could only move forward. That was her plan and her reason for coming downtown early on a Monday morning. Tara deserved a future, and Willow was determined to make it work out.

Tara awoke to an empty bed. Willow hadn’t been in it since Thursday night. She frowned, but she knew it was for the best. There was work to be done today. She had stayed up far too late with Drew the night before, and Willow had been busy. Tara hadn’t even heard her leave this morning. They hadn’t seen each other in three days, and the separation was creating an unholy frustration in her that she didn’t want to contain. She grinned at the thought that they might make up a little of that lost time today. She had just two exams left for the quarter, her burdens were lifting, and she couldn’t recall having looked forward to a Monday in… well, not ever. The holidays officially started this week. She rolled over and inhaled the lingering scent of Willow from her pillow, and a blush crept into her flesh from everywhere at once. They had kissed. They had pushed beyond the simple touches and tastes of uncertainty until they reached a locked door. Tara’s blush turned to an icy rush in her veins. She busied herself with tidying the bed sheets to forget how she had stopped them, how she had looked away for just a moment. In that moment, something had changed. She had made a decision, and she meant to follow it through to the end. Her pulse quickened with the anxiety of it all, but she quieted herself with the simple chores of morning. 

Today she would quit, she would leave it all behind her, and she would place her trust in a future she couldn’t plan out on her phone’s calendar. “Hmm,” she mumbled as she wandered around the living room in search of that elusive little phone. Her hands felt beneath the couch cushions, and she checked the dining room table, but it was nowhere. Willow had said she would leave it somewhere… She drummed her fingers on the kitchen counter and tried to remember their conversation from Friday night. “Right!” she grinned. It would be waiting for her on the bookcase in the front hall. Tara wandered past the pile of utility bills and old catalogues by the couch, mentally preparing herself for the conversations that would have to happen. “I’m sorry,” she rehearsed to the quiet audience of the old house, “I’m quitting to pursue a real future.” She frowned. Too honest. “Ahem,” she cleared her throat, ready to try again. “I regret to inform you that Tara will no longer be providing her services to you,” Tara burst into a fit of giggles and couldn’t finish. She picked up the cell phone from its resting place beside a collection of Drew’s old poetry books. He had given them to her in hopes that they might inspire her to write again like she did as a college freshman. Tara hadn’t written prose or fiction in more than a year, and it made her ache to think of the freedom of that kind of creativity. She sighed and looked at her phone. A validation message was hovering on the home screen:

38 contacts deleted.

“Shit,” she muttered quietly, thumbing through her address book for her client numbers. They were all gone. “What the actual fuck…” She pushed more buttons on the phone until she couldn’t focus her eyes for all the frustration that was building up in her. The phone vibrated and flashed at her. She looked at the screen again. There was a new text message from an unknown contact that just said “blocked.”

YOUR CONTACTS ARE DELETED. DON’T LOOK FOR THEM.

“Did you wipe out my account or something?” she whispered to the stranger texting her. WHO ARE YOU?, she typed. No response came back. Tara pressed the palm of her hand to her forehead. She closed her eyes again, and this time the phone rang and vibrated. She answered it before she even looked at the screen clearly. “Listen, asshole,” she shouted into the phone.

“Hey!” came a defensive and very familiar voice on the other end. “Why am I an asshole this time?”

Tara rolled her eyes at her own mistakes. “Sorry, Drew. I thought… My phone is all screwed up, and I just got this bizarre message, and-”

“Girl, that’s not even the beginning of your day. You need to turn on the TV and look for a local news channel. Pick one. It’s playing on all of them.”

“William Anthony Bradvold?” the officer asked at the door to the Fraternity house. The initiate at the door briskly turned, saluted, pointed at his superior in the lounge chair by the fireplace, and ran for the cover of his room in the basement. Seven armed officers entered and faced the handsome young man. The sergeant handed him the legal papers with marked indifference. Inside, he was glowing. It wasn’t every day you got to arrest one of these rich snots who believed they rose above the letter of the law. Any minute now, he’d hear something about a relative who might be an attorney.

He didn’t bother to take the papers offered to him. “My father will see to this,” William began, coolly smoothing his perfect hair.

The sergeant looked at a different paper, a list of names. “Would that be Dean Bradvold from the English Department?” William twitched. “Ah. Right then. He’s already in booking.” Two officers took William’s arms and pulled him into a standing position. Their handcuffs were quick and tight on his wrists. “Nice scheme you all had going, little man,” the sergeant whispered into his ear as they escorted him to the patrol car at the curb. “It’s a shame all those tidy profits are going right back to Uncle Sam. But,” he shrugged, “I guess that’s what happens when you pay someone else to do your homework on drug trafficking and dealing. Oh,” the sergeant broke into a giddy smile, “and that part about pissing off your own tax attorney? Bad call. He gave us everything we needed to sink your whole operation.”

“Gregory,” William whispered. Reality was beginning to close in on all sides. Nothing made sense until he thought of Tara. Anger flared in his chest. “Officer,” he made a point of smiling with demure respect, “a mistake has been made here. I can tell you-”

The sergeant held up his hand. “No need to throw anyone else under the bus, son. We’ve got everyone involved in this, and the Feds don’t do deals.”

“Feds?”

“Feds,” the sergeant grinned. “It’s sad, really,” he nodded to the uniformed officers to throw their quarry into the back seat. “What with this being a holiday weekend coming up, you’ll have to wait until Monday for them to fetch you.” He leaned down to look William in the face. He saw fear, and it made him swell with pride. “I wouldn’t worry if I were you, but steer clear of the oatmeal,” he advised. He slammed the door and rapped on the roof. It slid away into the rainy afternoon.

“Willow?” Tara called out from the end of the hallway. She started to walk past the light switch, and then she wondered for a moment what would happen if she tried it. The lights in the hall burst on with an intensity she hadn’t remembered possible.

“I replaced the old bulbs and housing and upgraded them to LEDs,” Willow called back from the bedroom. 

Tara followed the sound of her voice and pushed the door the rest of the way open. A wide smile was spread across her face, but she stopped when she saw the handful of boxes packed and taped shut on the floor. “What’s happening?”

Willow looked up at her, and she could see the tracks of tears that had been running down her face. The room suddenly felt so small, so cramped. Tara had to move aside as Willow picked up two boxes at once and carried them downstairs. She followed, unsure how her heart could go so quickly from giddy excitement to crushed.

They both stopped in the entryway in front of the old door. “You’re leaving.” Tara wanted to look at her, but her eyes wouldn’t obey. She could feel the girl standing beside her, feel her warmth and the low throb of her steady breath. The hallway was so still, so cold, and Tara found her thoughts uncontrollably drawn to the broken furnace in the basement. She’d meant to get it fixed, but the heat exchanger was cracked in several places. The furnace repair guy had smiled politely when he turned off the gas and shut off the breaker supplying power to the old metal box. Now winter was creeping in around the front door threshold, and Tara couldn’t think of a way to hold it back. Against her better judgment, she allowed herself to cry just for a moment. The tears were hot as they ran down her cheeks, and it was the last heat she would feel until spring.

Willow’s voice felt funny, like it didn’t know how to talk. “This isn’t…” She couldn’t bear to say it wasn’t her home. Her hands had worked their way along every baseboard, around every window, and inside too many of its walls. She knew it intimately, and that bond felt all that much worse for her envy of a similar bond to Tara. “I’m not meant for the city.” Everything had come together in the end. Her plan was fluid and completely covered. Even Tara wouldn’t know what she had accomplished. That was the point. William was in jail, and he couldn’t come after Tara anymore. Her strategy had been flawless, but it had changed something inside of her. It had changed them both. And now she had other debts to pay.

You’re not meant for me, is what you want to say, Tara intoned to herself. Willow’s unspoken emotions were breaking her heart. “Where are you headed then?” Her voice sounded forced, fake, but all she wanted was to be delicate, desirable. All she wanted was for this moment not to be happening. The odd mixture of joy over the last twenty-four hours and anxiety over what had suddenly been born between them stirred her stomach into a shaken soda bottle of yuck.

Willow’s forehead wrinkled with the effort of the conversation at hand. Everything had always been so easy between them. The words usually came with reckless abandon, tumbling over their awkwardness and fear until they found themselves in a new place, trusting each other without understanding how or why. “North,” Willow whispered, hoping she was answering the question Tara had asked. Her own thoughts made it hard to focus on what had actually been said aloud. “Bellingham, maybe.” You couldn’t go much further north without hitting Canada. “I need to look for some acreage. It’s time…” Liar, she chastised herself. It’s time I realized my dreams? Time I did something for myself? Willow tried not to laugh at herself. After everything, she still couldn’t look Tara in the face and tell her the real reason she needed to go. She was just starting a new set of lies to build up around.

“I’m sure you need plenty of time before spring,” Tara reasoned. She fidgeted with her hands, first in her jeans pockets, then pulling at the cord of the blue hoodie she wore. It was Willow’s. Should she give it back? A fleeting thought of undressing, of momentary seduction and compromised personal values flickered in front of her eyes. Would Willow stay if they slept together? The dry tracks of her tears from a moment before burst into a heat that felt like fresh tears, but Tara knew she wasn’t crying. This was guilt. She could feel the pull of Willow’s body, so close to her own. Their tension was tight and confining, and she had said no. She had said no. Now Willow was leaving. It wasn’t rational to put those things together, and Tara tried to push the connection aside, but it glowed like the highlighter marks on her index finger from the last edit of her final Literature paper.

“Spring. Right.” Willow felt an ache in her neck from staring straight ahead. The few boxes of her things were stacked by the door and waiting for her to finish this. “I only hope I can find what I need,” she explained to no one. She lifted her left foot and began to shuffle toward the porch. The movement felt good, but it filled her with dread to look in Tara’s direction. She was breaking the girl’s heart. Her own fractured a little with each step. 

“You’ll find the right place,” Tara managed a half smile. You have to stay! Her voice boomed in her mind, and she wanted to scream and pound her fists in a tantrum. Her eyes lifted and she caught sight of Willow’s. The girl’s simple beauty struck her like a brick falling to the bottom of her insides. Willow was leaving, and nothing was going to stop her. “Are you sure-”

“I am,” her voice was too strong. She shrank back against it, wishing she sounded meek, demure, anything but confident about leaving. She held Tara’s gaze as long as she could, but it was like staring at the first sunny sky of summer. She blinked and turned toward the boxes of agriculture books and seed catalogues, needing to feel their weight to steady her. She settled them into her arms, putting up her last defense against her own weakness. If they couldn’t hug, then she wouldn’t have to feel this loss right away. She could put it off until the first rest stop north of Everett. They made battery-acid-strength coffee and didn’t mind if you cried alone in your car. “I’ll… I’ll call when I find a place,” she lied.

Tara wanted to tell her not to bother, tell her to go fuck herself, tell her she’d be better off the way things were before all this started. Tara wanted this not to hurt, and she hoped that anger would move in and tie her insides back together where they’d been slashed apart. She tried to ball her fists, but they shook with weakness. Willow was walking out of her life, and Tara couldn’t even muster the strength to tell her not to go.

Willow glanced out into the drippy afternoon, bound in place by her own indecision. She should stay. She should run back to Tara's arms and hold her tight, make promises to stay, to fix everything. She wanted to, but something deeper burned and set her stomach on fire. She had given Tara what she needed. This wasn't about love or making the impossible work out. She'd given everything in her, and there was nothing left to keep her from falling apart.

"Tara," Willow began.

"No," Tara held a finger so close to Willow's lips that she could feel the girl's halting breath. "Don't say it," her voice was pleading, thin with the difficulty of it all. "I understand, and I get why you need to do this. So just go. I can't bear to think..."

"That I love you?" Willow swallowed hard, forcing her own tears back down.

Tara nodded. The damage was done. Try as she might, her anger couldn't extinguish the flame that burned in her chest for the woman walking out of her life. The last thing she wanted was hope, because it was worse that knowing that Willow might not love her after everything she had shown her. "Yeah, thanks," she mumbled.

"I tried to warn you about that," Willow smirked, instantly wishing she hadn't come off so flippant. "I fell so hard for you." Her words were in the past tense, but she still felt that spark snapping at the ends of her nerves when she looked at the blonde. She took a slight step back for the distance, to find air for her lungs.

Tara tried again, but the words hung up in her mouth. Stay. Don't leave. We can figure it all out. Together. But she knew this was happening with or without her consent, and part of her, though her own pain was growing to intolerable depths, wanted to make things just one percent easier for Willow. Her hand reached for the doorknob and pulled the front door back, letting in the full chill of November. And that was that.

Drew wanted to comfort her. That was his job, though he still couldn’t quite figure out how he’d come to fit that role so well. Maybe they were meant to be siblings once. They fought and scratched at one another like brother and sister, and then they always felt the pull of family ties. Today Tara was quiet, and he knew to leave her be. Their plates were forgotten, and the croissants languished beside cold mugs of coffee. Unable to fidget, Drew took small comfort in the rhythmic clacking of dishes, spoons, espresso tampers, and the whistle of steaming milk. The rest of the world spun and weaved around them, the only two people left to hibernate for the long winter. It was November 24th. Thanksgiving was tomorrow.

“Did you know that a light frost makes brussels sprouts sweeter?” Tara mumbled absently. Her eyes were somewhere else. “It has something to do with the cold converting the sugars…”

Drew tried not to gasp. She hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words in three days. “I didn’t know.”

“I’m not dead, you know,” she looked at her lap, then reached for her coffee a little too suddenly. It tipped over and flooded the table. “Shit,” she scrambled to confine the mess, only making it worse when she pushed her plate off the edge to a shattering death below. The entire Starbucks went quiet for long enough that Tara shrank to half her normal size. Time slowed. Everything focused on her, on her clumsiness, on the raw burning in her stomach. A woman pulled her child behind her, another couple pointed and stared. Tara blinked and tried to be rational, but she could feel everyone watching her.

“Hey,” Drew’s voice broke the silence, and the room sprang back into its busy action once more. His hand found hers under the table, and she looked at him. “Where are you?”

A barista flitted past with broom in hand and made quick work of the small disaster from a moment earlier. Tara’s head was staring to spin. “I’m sorry.” She squeezed his hand and was relieved to find it so firm and steady. “I don’t feel too good.”

Dutifully, he placed the back of his hand against her forehead. It was something his father had done when Drew was little, and he longed to feel that kind of affection again. “When was the last time you ate something that wasn’t coffee or chocolate?” The edge of her lips quivered, and the tiniest of smiles emerged. She meant to placate him, and he knew it. “Listen,” he wrapped an arm around her, gathering her in, “she left. That’s all there is to it. If she couldn’t bother to-”

“It was me,” the words grunted out of her, leaving Tara feeling breathless, winded. She knew the truth. There had been no confusion in any of it. “She tried to fix everything, and I wouldn’t let her,” she confessed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks the end of Act 1, as it were. Here we take a departure from what the original drafts of this story intended to contain, and things open out into a broader collection of timelines with people we haven't met yet. The Willow we have come to know hasn't been fully up front about her past, and it's going to catch up with her.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter introduces a cameo of two awesome characters from Orphan Black. They don't really take on very big roles in this tale, but it would be impossible to rewrite them as anyone else. It was just too good to pass up.

Willow’s face was illuminated by the blue light of three computer screens. Her eyes were dry from the light, from working too many hours. “Jesus, Rosenberg, you look like shit,” came a throaty voice from the doorway to the loft office. Willow looked up to see Sarah slouched against the metal door frame. Her black leather jacket hung loose on her shoulders as she rummaged through the pockets for her pack of cigarettes. Willow reached behind herself and slapped the No Smoking metal sign on the wall. Sarah dropped her hands before she could pull a cigarette out of the pack, pocketed them again, and flipped Willow off. “Bloody stupid rules,” Sarah mumbled in her East London accent as she flopped down into the chair at the opposite side of the desk from Willow.

“Computers don’t like smoke,” Willow said softly, keeping her eyes focused on the center screen. “Neither do I.”

Sarah propped her feet up on the desk and played with her lighter. “What’s the status, then?”

“Almost done.” Willow typed, moved the mouse around, typed some more.

“You’re so chatty lately,” Sarah quipped in her most flippant tone. “This girl really has you thrown.”

Willows’ head snapped up from her work. “She’s none of your business. We finish this job, close the loop, and then I’m out.” She went back to typing, trying her best to look busy. Tara did have her thrown, but she wasn’t about to give Sarah the satisfaction of seeing how raw and torn her emotions still were.

Sarah dropped her feet to the floor, sat forward, leaned on the edge of the desk, and brushed her long, dark brown hair over one shoulder. “That’s what you said last time, and look where we are now. Best mates again.” 

Willow scowled at her and opened her mouth to speak, but the two-way radio on the desk crackled. “Baby bird is leaving nest,” came the thick, Ukrainian voice. They both stiffened. 

“Time’s up.” Sarah got to her feet and moved for the door. “You and I are not done.” She swept out of the room and down the metal flight of steps to the warehouse floor below. 

Willow leaned over in her chair to glance out the window of the office and watch Sarah walk out of the small door on the side of the warehouse near the closed bay doors. She was alone again. She sighed loudly. This had not turned out the way she had hoped. This was why she had left the last time, she reasoned with herself. It was never over after the next job. There was always another one around the corner. She glanced at the clock on the computer. She had twenty minutes. The sound of Sarah’s motorcycle starting up and spitting gravel as she spun off clattered through the abandoned building. 

Willow relaxed back into the chair and closed her eyes for a moment. The scene in her mind was always the same.

_Tara was standing in the doorway of her bedroom, Willow still bewildered by the foot of the bed. The green cashmere sweater hung softly in her grip. Tara said something then took two quick steps and closed the gap between them. Her lips met Willow’s, her hands pulled them together fiercely. They kissed deeply until Willow’s lungs nearly burst. Tara stepped back, breaking their contact, smiling._

Willow knew that the moment had ended there, but she played it over and over again in her mind on a loop, crashing together, kissing passionately, smiling at each other. She bit the fingertip of her right index finger, lost in a daydream of things that had gone right. 

_Tara held the piece of trim over her head, pressing against the top of the doorway with both hands, back arched, feet balancing carefully atop the overturned bucket that served as a stepstool. She craned her neck sideways to see Willow step up the actual ladder with the air nailer in hand. “Don’t move,” Willow instructed, smiling as she took her time to get the nail gun in place._

_“It’s not going to shoot me, is it?” Tara asked nervously. The air compressor suddenly kicked to life and groaned loudly, building pressure up in the tank. Tara jumped out of instinct._

_Willow placed a steadying hand on top of Tara’s on the far end of the board. They looked into each other’s eyes. “Just don’t move,” she instructed. She slammed the nailer into the board and popped in the first nail. Tara jumped again and squeaked at the sudden noise but kept her hand steady under Willow’s._

Willow laughed out loud and looked around the dark office. The small desk light between two of the monitors provided sufficient light for her to work by, but shadows haunted the corners of the room. Stark daylight filtered into the warehouse below through filthy windows at the top of the east wall. It was still mid-morning, but Willow had long since lost track of the importance of time of day with regard to eating and sleeping. She yawned and stretched, checking the clock again. Sarah would be inside the mansion now, slipping the tiny device onto the Wi-Fi hub. She had ten minutes.

“You need to work faster,” Helena barked over the radio. Willow sat up abruptly and pulled the radio closer, as if that would help her see what Helena must be seeing.

“Oy, meathead,” Sarah piped back, “don’t rush the artwork. I’m concentrating.” Willow breathed hard, worrying that something would go wrong. “Check the signal, Molly Ringwald.” Willow scowled again, used to being called names by her old colleagues, but liking it no more than when she was a teenager. 

“I thought we agreed calling her Lindsey Lohan,” Helena answered.

“Gave up on that,” Sarah went on. “She hasn’t got the rack for it.”

Willow keyed the mike and spat at the radio as she clicked with her other hand on the mouse. “Could I get the Wonder Twins to shut the fuck up? This is supposed to be discreet!” A light on a diagram in the first monitor flickered to green. “Solid signal. You’re done, She-Ra. Get your Princess of Power ass out of there.”

“I get to be Princess of Power. I’m blonde,” Helena answered. “She can be Catra.” Willow was about to yell again, but then Helena keyed her mike and whispered, “Nest is not safe. Time to fly.” The radio went silent. 

Willow inhaled sharply. They were supposed to have six more minutes. Something was going wrong. She flipped applications on the computer and looked for traffic cameras near the address where Sarah and Helena were positioned. She flipped through a dozen views before seeing a motorcycle with a black clad figure zip through a green light on 88th Avenue. Safe. Sarah had made it out. Willow kicked herself mentally for not paying attention to the surveillance like she should have. She had let her mind wander, and they could have been compromised for it. She needed to find a way to focus and make it through this job. 

Drew swept the edges of the kitchen floor with the old broom, noticing for the first time that baseboards had been installed, caulked, painted. They looked good. They framed the hardwoods nicely, and the kitchen looked more finished than it had since he could recall. Little touches of Willow were all over the house, even if Tara refused to talk about her anymore. He glanced at the light under her bedroom door and wandered over to listen to the sound of her typing at the desk. He knocked lightly and opened the door, but Tara didn’t see or hear him. She was listening to music on her headphones as she worked. She had been like this for three weeks. She wrote, she slept, she wrote more. Drew was happy to know that she was pouring something out onto all of those pages, but it was unlike her to keep it to herself for so long. He backed out slowly and closed the door again, listening to be sure he hadn’t disturbed her. He sighed and walked back to the kitchen, stopping to put the full kettle on the stovetop to heat for tea. 

“Good timing, I’m cold,” Tara said, startling Drew from behind. She was in the doorway to the kitchen, smiling at him.

“Jesus,” he breathed, putting a hand over his heart to calm himself. “I thought you were still writing.” He went through the motions of pulling out the pot and finding the right loose-leaf tea for a rainy afternoon. Drew rubbed at the back of his neck, sore from so many days and nights of worrying about his best friend. 

“When was the last time you slept in your own bed?” Tara sat down at the old table, leaned over to place her chin down onto her folded arms, and tilted her head sideways to look at him. Her face was pale, and there were grey circles under her eyes. She had slept, but the rest was never enough. Drew had slept in the bed with her or on the couch this whole week. The days had started to blur together for them both.

Drew sighed heavily and sat down opposite Tara, waiting for the kettle to heat up. “My place is fine without me. You need me here.” He reached across the table and took her hand in his, but he sat up abruptly with a terrible look of worry. “Oh my god, Tara,” he gasped.

Tara sat up, startled by his reaction. “What?” she choked on her own voice. “What’s wrong?”

He held up her hand for her to see. “When is the last time you got a manicure?!” He kept his face serious for a beat, and then they both let loose the laughter. They tried to keep laughing for a moment longer, but it couldn’t last. It all felt so forced. Drew had gotten dragged down into a depression right along with his best friend. The truth was that Willow had been important to both of them, and now they weren’t sure how to go on without her.

The sound of the chair scraping the floor snapped Drew to attention. Tara was walking away again. She had been right there, close to him like they’d been for so many years, and now she was slipping away more and more with each passing day. She pulled the loose tangles of her hair into a low ponytail as she walked out of the kitchen. “I need a shower,” she mumbled.

A knock sounded at the front door, and Drew glided past her to answer it. “Go on, I’ve got this.” She watched him open the door and respond to a young looking man on the front porch. Tara overheard something about a courier service. “You have what for her?” Drew asked in surprise. He stepped back and closed the door, holding a large envelope in his left hand. He glanced at Tara, uncertainty firmly set in his deep brown eyes. “Did you want to tell me how you managed this one?”

Tara stumbled over to him, her bare feet chilled from the cold tile of the entryway. The envelope was smooth and cool in her hand. She pulled a paper from within that had an odd blue border around it and a fancy notary stamp. “This is the title to the house?” her statement came tumbling out as a question. “This has to be a mistake. You don’t get the title until the house is paid off.” Drew stared at her, looked at the paper, stared at her again. They were both in shock. “I need my phone.”

Drew darted off to her bedroom and ran back with the phone in his hand. She grabbed it and flipped the paper over a dozen times looking for a number to call. The phone tree was impossible to manage, so she pressed the zero key until she got a human voice. Drew wandered off to the kitchen and poured the water for tea. He warmed up two mugs and set everything on the table. Tara stumbled in a moment later. “The loan is paid off,” she said, as if she were in a trance. “They received a wire transfer for the balance.” She paused, then sat down and took the warm mug into her hands as Drew filled it with hot black tea. “Did you…?”

“No!” he almost shouted. “No,” he said again quietly. “I didn’t have anything to do with this. “And seriously, Tara,” he spread his hands plaintively, “I could have helped, but your loan was more than I could comfortably have paid off.”

She stared blankly at him. “It was over four-hundred-thousand, Drew. Someone paid off four-hundred-thousand dollars of debt in my name.”

“Willow?” He regretted saying the name, as though it were taboo, but he knew they were both thinking the same thing.

“How?” she asked. “I don’t think she had anything like this.”

“Twenty dollars,” Helena put out her hand, palm up.

Willow sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t have it.” The bleached blonde reached out and smacked her shoulder hard. It pushed Willow off balance. She took a stumbling step and put her hands up in defense. “I’m serious, Helena, I’m broke.”

“Computer genius is broke,” she called out loudly to her sister across the warehouse floor. She pointed a finger closely at Willow’s nose. “You should not make bets if you do not have money to pay up.” She said the last two words slowly and loudly, slapping Willow’s shoulder again with each word. 

“I didn’t make a bet,” Willow said defensively. 

Helena sniffed and tipped her head back. “You say sestra not make it back without making trouble.” She looked around. “Trouble?” she called out. “Any trouble here?” She swept her head left and right. “No!” she jabbed her finger into Willow’s sternum. “Not today.”

“Leave Punky Brewster alone, meathead,” Sarah called from across the room. She leaned back in the metal folding chair, smoking slowly with both of her feet up on a wooden crate. She swept her long, dark hair out of her face and slid the hood of her sweatshirt back onto her shoulders. “Things went well today. Let it go.” Helena pushed Willow once more with her finger, then walked off to sit by the window. Willow could feel her cold glare cutting into her like laser beams from her eyeballs. She walked over to Sarah and leaned against a metal column supporting the upstairs office. “How much time do you need to collect the data?”

“Forty-eight hours,” Willow answered. She fidgeted with her hands nervously.

“Fine. I can wait that long.” Sarah locked her eyes onto the redhead. There was no joking around here. She squinted a bit and leaned in toward her. “This is good work we do here, Rosenberg. Don’t forget that. We’re on the right side.” She tapped her fingers on the top of the crate to emphasize her point. Willow could see the butt of the 9mm Glock tucked into the waist of Sarah’s jeans. “But we need tech ops. That’s you. You’re the best.”

“I’m not staying. I’ll finish this job, and then I’m gone.” Willow’s voice shook, but she stood her ground. 

“Don’t be a pussy,” Sarah laughed. 

“Little sheep,” Helena muttered in the background. Willow turned to glare at her, but only heard, “Bahhh,” in return.

“You tried leaving before,” Sarah stood up and walked casually around Willow as she spoke. “It went well, right? Worked an honest job, found a cute girlfriend. Tried your damnedest to stay off computers for four whole years. I mean,” she shrugged, “I have to give you credit, your cold turkey was pretty solid.” Willow stayed still as Sarah circled her, but her whole body was shaking from the confrontation. “But you broke.” Sarah stopped and pointed into her face. “You broke and came looking for me, because you know there’s more to this world than slaving away at a nine to five while the bad guys work the system all around us.” Sarah nudged up closer to Willow, holding her own face inches away. “Does she know?” Willow blinked but couldn’t hold the other woman’s gaze. Sarah laughed. “Of course not. You put on that sweet, innocent face of yours and convinced her that there’s nothing dangerous about you. That you only care about being good and wholesome.” Sarah flicked the cigarette onto the concrete floor. Sparks scurried around it. “How would she ever trust you if she knew what you were? If she knew the lengths you’d go to in the name of justice?”

“Little tree is just like her sestras,” Helena cooed from the corner. 

Willow turned to look at her, but Sarah grabbed her chin and forced her face back. “We’re your family, kid. We always have been. And we’ll take care of you better this time.” She let go and backed away, leaving Willow to breathe again. Sarah sat back down and lit another cigarette. “I know that last job was rough on you,” she waved her hand dismissively, indicating that Willow should sit, which she did. “We all lost a lot, and I can see why that would... upset you.” 

“Upset?” Willow spat the word out. “You hid her moves from me. You let her get caught.”

“I didn’t let that happen! It wasn’t up to me.” Sarah leaned forward, every muscle tense. Willow had found the one thing that could guarantee to rile her old friend up. She shook her head at the thought of Sarah once having been a close friend, but those days were long in the past. “You don’t know everything,” Sarah leaned back. “You fucking left. You ran off, and you stuck us with the cleanup.” Willow fought the heat rising up her neck and to her face. She had pushed Sarah into this fight, but she didn’t want it. Confrontation was not something she enjoyed. “Faith was in too deep. She wouldn’t walk, and she got busted. She was too involved and couldn’t let it go.”

“Sloppy, sloppy,” came the voice from behind Willow.

“Just shut up, Helena,” Willow snapped at her. “I couldn’t be part of this anymore after what I saw…” She wanted to yell at them both, to let out all of the pent-up anger that had been stewing in her gut for so many years after events of their past, but the fight wasn’t in her anymore. Too much had changed. Willow had changed. “I know people can be terrible. I know,” she looked straight into Sarah’s eyes, and she saw the same pain there that she felt in her own chest. “I’m sorry I bailed.”

Sarah took a deep breath and nodded. “I get it. Her mistake was our mistake, and it broke all of us a bit. Even meathead over there,” she shook her head at her sister. “But dammit, Willow, we brought down six assholes on that job. And they never get to hurt anyone again.” She tapped her fingers on the wooden crate, clearly visualizing the news coverage of the arrests that had followed their work. Willow ran her hand over her back jeans pocket. The article from Bengt was folded up there, pressed against her. It had been months of work. They had set up surveillance, data mining, even parts she didn’t know about. Jobs were divided to keep everyone safe. What they had done was highly illegal, which is why the cops couldn’t do what they could. And Willow was the data tech end of the operation. Sarah was right. They couldn’t have done it without her.

“Thank you,” Willow mumbled.

“For what?” Sarah leaned back, finishing off her cigarette. “Roping you into a syndicate of amateur crime-busters and taking down hardcore criminals for which none of us would ever receive any recognition whatsoever?” She laughed at her own description. “Truth is more important that honor, right? That’s what you taught the rest of us.”

Willow closed her eyes and let her head fall to her hands. That was her weakness. That was how Bengt had known. The article had posted her virtuous quote, which had also been the tagline she had attached to every mark they took down. It was her signature, embedded in her data. And it was still being looked for to this day. The authorities had never found the rest of them. Faith was the only one in prison for the crime of busting other criminals. And Willow had broken her own rule when she left. She had used her very own quote when interviewing for the farm manager job with Bengt and Luna. Her rules were clear and easy. No internet unless absolutely necessary. No email addresses or usernames that could be tied to her former life. No research to find her old friends or look at their past jobs. Willow had imposed severe restrictions on her access to anything having to do with computers from the moment she left the group, and it had worked well for her. But Tara’s need for freedom from William and the life she didn’t want had pushed Willow back to her old ways, back to risking everything to set things right in the world. It had been worth the danger, but now she sat in an empty warehouse, freezing her ass off in a folding chair with two women who would only drag her deeper into a life of justifiable crime. And Tara was further from her than ever before.

“I meant, thank you for helping with my… personal problem,” Willow choked the words out of her mouth. Her heart ached for everything that had happened over a few short weeks, but it had been her own doing. 

“Woman, that shit was epic,” Sarah laughed. “I mean, I was excited enough to hear from you at all after all this time, but to think that you had it in you to organize a… a multi-something… What the fuck did you call it?”

“Multi-platform micro-extortion,” Willow blushed. She knew she was a geek, but Sarah’s coolness only made it worse.

“Yeah,” she smiled widely. “That’s it. Thirty-eight goddamn marks in under a week, $10K a pop? Brilliant, mate.” She shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair. 

Helena quietly walked up behind Willow’s chair and stared down at her. “And little sestra doesn’t have any money?”

All eyes were on her. She squirmed nervously in her chair. “The money went to a good cause,” she said defensively, wiping her sweaty palms down her thighs. The warehouse was cold and drafty, but Willow couldn’t fight back against her nerves.

“We’ll be fine once we have this next job done,” Sarah saved her. She stood up and pulled a wad of cash out of her back pocket, thumbing through it. “Anybody else hungry?” 

Helena perked up and smiled, but Willow beat her to the punch. She stood up quickly and stepped over to Sarah, grabbing the money from her grip. “I’ll go,” she started to say, but Sarah kept her hold on the bills. Willow tried her best to look the other woman in the eye. It took all of her resolve not to shrink back. “The two of you were just out. You should lay low.” She hoped her voice sounded steady and confident.

“I like the little chocolate cookies,” Helena poked Willow in the shoulder. Sarah reluctantly let go, and Willow turned to leave. Helena grabbed the edge of her coat before the redhead could make it more than a step. Willow’s heart pounded in her chest, but she kept breathing. Helena dropped a set of keys into Willow’s hand. She nodded. “ _Leettle_ cookies.”


	17. Chapter 17

Tara walked into the office behind the senior loan officer. She held her purse in both hands which were chilled from the cold of early December, but inside her coat she felt herself beginning to sweat. “Thanks for making the time to see me,” she smiled as he offered her a chair beside his desk.

“No problem,” he smiled back at her. Ryan had always been polite and helpful to her. “What can I do for you?”

She cleared her throat. “I need to review my home loan.”

Ryan woke his computer up and clicked on a few things, typed in her name, scrolled and clicked again. She watched his eyes scan the screen behind his wire-framed glasses. “Everything looks in order to me.” He pointed to a line on the screen and invited Tara to look around and see it for herself. “These are the payments you made, this is the final settlement amount you applied to pay off the loan, this is the minor overpayment refund, which is normal in these cases. Those closing amounts have daily interest which is hard to capture when wired funds come through.”

“Wired?” Tara asked.

“Yes,” he pointed again. Tara saw the line item. “Right here.”

“Is there,” she started to ask him how to trace where the money came from, but she was concerned he would find out that she wasn’t the one who paid the loan off. “Does it say where that wire transfer came from?”

Ryan nodded. “There’s an origination number, and it corresponds to a bank, but wire transfers don’t always have additional details.” He squinted at the screen. “This one looks like it might have been from cash or from another wire transfer. Does that sound right?” He turned to face her. “Is there something wrong with this to you?”

“No, no,” she rushed to assure him. “It’s just… It’s pretty exciting, and I wanted to make sure I wasn’t missing anything.”

“Well,” he backed away from his computer, “not many people pay off their first mortgage before they turn 30. Well done, and congrats.” He smiled at her and extended his hand for her to shake. Tara felt herself being hustled out of the office with assurances that Ryan was there if she ever needed another loan product, and then she was standing in the cold December air again.

“That’s bullshit!” Drew shouted. He sat forward in the plastic molded lounge chair with his elbows on his knees. “No cheating, Maclay!” He pointed at her with an extended arm, “I’m watching you.”

Tara smiled and turned, rolled the bowling ball down the lane again, and did another victory pose when the ball took out the last two pins. “Woo!” she shouted. “Spare for me, nothing for you.” She landed in the seat next to her best friend and dropped her head onto his shoulder. “Don’t hate me just because I’m good at something you suck at.”

“I do not suck at bowling!” Drew pulled his shoulder out from under her head and looked at her with a scowl. “Nobody handles balls like I do,” he said as he picked up the pink ball from the rack. Tara snorted loudly. “Laugh if you will,” he shouted over the raucous music in the bowling alley, “but I am a delicate creature of subtlety and refinement.” He swiftly turned his head forward, flipping his messy curls with the gesture. Tara watched him wind up, and then she glanced aside as the feeling of being watched crept up the back of her neck. The bowling alley was dimly lit, and groups of people milled about in nearly every corner and along the railing above the seats. “You missed it,” Drew tried to argue as he sat back down. “Tare?” he caught her eyes and saw the concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she tried to brush it off. “I just thought I saw someone. Something,” she corrected herself.

Drew crossed his arms over his chest. “Like a redheaded something?” Tara frowned and sank back into the plastic seat. “Peach fuzz, it’s been over a month.” She turned to look out over the lanes, clearly upset, clearly unwilling to talk about it, just like she had been since Willow had left. “Tell you what,” Drew slapped his knees and stood up. “I’m going to buy us another pitcher of shit beer and load up another round of disappointment while we wear the shoes of strangers past and present.” He patted her on the shoulder as he walked up to the counter to pay for another game and order their drinks.

Willow pulled the hood higher over her flamey red hair and ducked out the side door before he could see her standing there. “Fucking stupid,” she chastised herself. “Jesus, Rosenberg, you know you shouldn’t do this.” She thrust her hands into the pockets of her coat and stormed across the parking lot to the grey van parked near the dumpster. She hopped up into the driver’s seat, slammed the dented door, and sat with her head slumped onto the steering wheel while she collected herself. 

Tara had looked amazing. Better than amazing. Willow closed her eyes and visualized the blonde sitting alongside Drew. It was hard to capture just how much time had passed, but nothing had dulled in Willow’s senses. It was sharp and painful to see her so close, to know that she could walk up to her and touch her again. For all she knew, Tara would reject her outright. That’s why she had left, after all. Or at least that’s what she had allowed Tara to think. The truth was, her work was too dangerous to involve anyone else. In fairness, Tara’s rejection of her had stung in a way that Willow couldn’t really think about directly without wanting to cry and scream, but it provided the excuse she needed to walk away. After all, she was in debt to Sarah now, and it would take a miracle to walk away from her old life now that she was back in the thick of things again. She couldn’t have any loose ends to betray her.

Willow put the keys into the ignition and started to click it forward when a sharp rap hit the window. She jumped in her seat and turned wildly at the sound. Outside the driver’s side door stood a skinny guy in a black hoodie holding a skateboard in one hand. He stared at her in an unsettling way. He raised his eyebrows and mimed for her to roll down the window like he had been raised on hand crank windows in the 80’s. She looked around to see if anyone else was nearby, but the parking lot was dark in this corner. She glanced back at him and saw his patience wearing thin. She rolled down the window slowly. He held up a manila envelope for her to take. She reached out and took hold of it, at which point he promptly dropped the skateboard and rolled off into the darkness.

The package was heavy. She felt the contents, lumpy, more at the corner, ‘cell phone,’ she thought. The package started ringing before she had it open. The number didn’t mean anything to her. “Hello?” she asked the question, feeling oddly stupid about the whole event. This sort of thing happened in movies, not in real life.

“There’s a photo in the envelope,” the voice said. It was thick and confident, female, and something about it was hauntingly familiar. It unnerved Willow to her core. She felt in the envelope and her fingers caught the edge of glossy paper. She flicked on the dome light and stared at a picture of Tara closing the front gate of the yard in front of her house. It looked recent. The breath caught in her chest as she realized what was happening. “I have a job for you, and I know you don’t want to refuse it.”

“That’s not an option, obviously.”

“No. It’s not. You have some unique talents, Rosenberg,” the voice went on. 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Willow tried to explain. “She doesn’t know anything about me.”

The voiced laughed. “Did you want to give me a lesson on extortion? That would be ironic.” Willow scanned what she could see of the building near her, hoping that she could glimpse the person talking to her. They had to know she was a sitting duck in that van. Were they even here? Following her, tracking her movements?

“Fine, you know what I do. Then you know I already have a team.”

“I don’t need any of them. Just you. Drive down to Harbor Island. Follow Massachusetts past the logistics building. One hour.” Click. 

Willow stared at the phone in her hand and knew it wouldn’t ring again. Her heart pounded in her chest and throbbed in her ears. She let out a huge breath she had been holding. “Fuck.” She let her head roll to the left and opened her eyes for a mere second, at which point she saw a pair of blue eyes staring right back at her from inches away from the van window. She jumped again and flipped around in the seat, suddenly facing Tara, who was standing in the parking lot wrapped in her own arms to keep out the cold. Willow opened the door and nearly fell out of the vehicle. “Tara?” 

Tara breathed slowly. The air around her fogged up with her exhale. “It was you. You were in there.” She shrugged at the bowling alley.

Willow couldn’t read her expression. Was she angry? Hurt? Clearly she was upset, but the rest was a mystery. She was distracted and glanced at her watch. Only sixty minutes to beat it past downtown and out to Harbor Island. “Tara, I,” Willow tried to explain, but she knew she couldn’t or shouldn’t. “I need to go.”

“Wait,” Tara extended her arm and caught Willow’s hand in her own. Her look was pleading, desperate for Willow to stay. “Can’t we at least talk?”

“I,” Willow looked left and right again. Shit, shit, shit. She tried to calm herself. “Yes, but not now. I have to,” she looked left again, clearly panicked.

“Hey,” Tara tried to soothe her, “I know I gave you some mixed signals along the way, but seriously…” she shuffled nervously, not feeling prepared for this moment. She laced her fingers through Willow’s, hoping the other woman could feel her sincerity. “I didn’t want you to go.” Willow snapped her focus to Tara’s face. It was cold outside, and Willow felt Tara edging closer to her. “I don’t want to lose this chance,” Tara whispered. Before Willow could react, Tara leaned in and kissed her, pressing her lips solidly against the redhead’s. She backed Willow up against the door of the van and pressed into her with passion. Tara’s free hand gripped the back of Willow’s neck under her long hair and pulled her in closer. Her kiss was hungry, full of desire, and Willow didn’t want it to end. 

She pulled back to breathe and grabbed Tara’s shoulder, pushing her back gently. “I really didn’t see that coming,” she panted.

“Please don’t push me away,” Tara begged. “You came here looking for me. I know that you did.” She pressed her forehead against Willow’s and refused to let her move away. “I held too much back before, and I know that’s why you left.”

“Listen,” Willow rubbed her thumb down the side of Tara’s face, bringing them back to each other’s gaze. “I need you to…” she stopped, seeing the distress in Tara’s eyes. She couldn’t walk away now, not with everything she wanted in her arms in this moment, this moment of pure magic that she hadn’t expected. Tara was pouring herself out in such a vulnerable way that Willow simply couldn’t betray whatever trust had brought her back into her arms. “I need you to get in the van and come with me.” 

Tara stared at her for a moment. This didn’t make sense, but nothing had made sense since Willow had left. She had rehearsed this in her head over and over. She wouldn’t let another opportunity go. If Willow was there, she would do whatever it took to show her that she loved her, that she needed her. “Sure, but I need to tell Drew…”

“No. No time,” Willow led her swiftly around the van to the passenger door. She opened it and motioned for Tara to get it. “Send him a text. I’ll explain while I drive.” The little voice inside her head kept saying over and over, ‘This is stupid, this is stupid, this is really, really stupid,’ but Willow steadied herself and shut the door once Tara had sat down. She hopped into the other side and slammed the door. The van started up, and they pulled out of the parking lot, heading for the freeway. She glanced sideways at the woman sitting near her and felt her heart thumping with all of the anxiety from this confusing evening mixing together. “I have somewhere I’ve gotta be in less than an hour, and it can’t wait. It’s…” her palms started sweating, making it difficult to grip the steering wheel. “I can’t tell you what this is about.”

Tara ran her fingers through her hair, played with the ends for a moment, then reached out to fiddle with the heat controls for the van. “I liked your other car a lot better,” she smirked. 

Willow inhaled the scent of Tara’s shampoo as her hair cascaded over her shoulders again with her movements. “It’s just a loaner.” She rubbed the muscles of her neck as the stress built up in her body. She should have left Tara at the bowling alley. She should have been smarter than to get caught by the woman for stalking her. It might also have been good not get busted by whoever was extorting her, but clearly she had left enough breadcrumbs out for them to follow her for more than a few days.

The blonde looked over her left shoulder to the darkened interior of the back of the van. She saw a collection of metal cabinets, but the doors were closed and probably locked. “Does the heat even work?” She felt a cold draft creep through from outside and rubbed her hands up and down her upper arms. Willow glanced at her again, thinking. She shrugged off her barn coat while trying to maintain a grip on the wheel and handed the prewarmed coat across to Tara. “Thanks,” Tara whispered. She held the coat up to her face and inhaled deeply. It draped over her chest and arms and warmed her quickly.

“You’re… not going to ask anything?” Willow stared straight ahead at the half empty lanes of I-5. The alternating darkness and light of the overhead streetlamps made her eyes hurt. 

“You said you can’t tell me.”

“Right.” Willow hoped the van would figure out how to heat up now that her coat was gone. The silence was hard enough without her body starting to shiver. The exits passed slowly. Neither of them looked at the other. “How’s Drew?”

“He’s good,” she answered, possibly a bit too quickly. “Did you…” Tara found it almost impossible to talk. “Did you find a farm of your own?” Willow exhaled loudly and shifted in her seat. Waves of panic poured over her. Tara could see the internal struggle going on in her face even if Willow couldn’t or wouldn’t express it. “Right, that’s cool. You don’t have to talk about it,” Tara reassured her. She pulled the coat around her shoulders. “I know a thing or two about keeping secrets.” Willow looked over at her, and her expression softened. “I’m sure I don’t even deserve your trust, and I know it’s not always about trust anyway. Sometimes you just need to keep parts of yourself hidden away so you don’t have to admit what it means about who you really are.” Tara turned and looked out the window. It cut her to the bone to know that this was exactly what she had done to the woman she loved, and now it was being thrown back at her. “I’m still glad you were stalking me.”

“Not stalking,” Willow jumped a little. “Following,” she tried to say. “Not really following.” Her face scrunched up with the effort of trying to explain herself. “Looking…. Looking for you. Sneaky looking.”

“You’re not sneaky,” Tara laughed.

“I’m not supposed to be. I’m tech ops. Data retrieval only.” No time like the present, she told herself. After all, she’d gotten caught tailing the woman she had left, now she had kidnapped her in a creepy van. The heat had kicked on at some point, and now Willow felt herself starting to sweat. It wasn’t hot, but she couldn’t hold it back. Tara turned back to look at her again. “Helena is surveillance. Sarah is covert ops. They’re both hands-on. They’re sneaky.” Tara nodded, raising her eyebrows as Willow let it out. “They monitor or confront, install equipment,” Willow shrugged dismissively. “I watch their backs, find information, line up the data and use it to… resolve problems.”

“Like mine,” Tara added.

“I was out. Four years.” Willow rubbed her forehead as her body calmed. It was unbelievable how much a difference it made to leak even the tiniest bit of information. “I had restrictions so no one could find me from before.” She met Tara’s gaze. “I did some… terrible things.”

“I can relate.”

Willow wanted to laugh. She would never have thought that this could be the thing to get them talking openly to each other. “My prison sentence would be longer.” Her mouth twitched into a smile before she could stop it.

“You wanna measure rap sheets?” Tara quipped back. 

“Maybe.” She felt all of the air rushing out of her lungs at once. “I shouldn’t be telling you any of this. You shouldn’t know. No one can know. It could hurt you.” Her face scrunched up with the physical pain of the betrayal of her own rules. What was the point of being so smart that you could hide from the world indefinitely if all it took to break that down was the heartfelt kiss of a woman she probably couldn’t have anyway?

“You don’t think it hurt me to lose you?”

“I was trying to-”

“You made the decision, and you never even tried to talk to me,” Tara hurled the pain right back at her. “And here I am,” she ground some salt into her own wounds, “begging you to come back. Throwing myself at you.” She took a bitter breath and glanced sidelong at the woman she was attacking. Willow didn’t deserve this. Tara felt sick at her own actions, at the words that she flung around hoping to sting or cut in her desperation to get some sort of reaction out of her.

She absently picked up the envelope on the floor of the van and looked inside. She reached in and pulled out the photograph of herself before Willow could say anything to stop her. Despite the coat and the heat in the van, her blood ran cold as ice in her veins. She glanced down and saw the discarded burner phone under where the envelope had been. “Do you still not want to talk about where we’re going?”


	18. Chapter 18

Willow pulled up at the end of the pier alongside the random warehouse. She checked her watch. Five minutes to spare. 

_“I think you should pull over and talk to me about this.” Tara held the picture up._

_Willow did as she was told and took the next exit, pulling the van to the side of the offramp. “I don’t even know where to begin.” She put the transmission into park. “Everything just happened. I don’t even know how they found me. I was careful. Really careful.”_

_“Careful like how you followed me tonight?” Tara choked out, unsure of whether to be angry or afraid first. “Who are we going to meet?”_

_“I don’t know,” Willow hugged herself, feeling the cold again. “Not yet, anyway. I’m supposed to meet them at 11pm. I don’t have much time.”_

_“What about those other women you mentioned? Are they in on this?”_

_“Sarah? Helena?” the redhead shook her head. “They don’t know anything. They think I’m out on a food run.” Willow let her head drop into her hands. “And they’re going to kill me when they find out.”_

_“Is that a real thing?” Tara’s voice filled with panic. “Is killing a part of all of this? Like actual guns and knives and dead bodies?”_

_“No!” Willow slid to the edge of her seat and held both hands out at Tara pleadingly. “That’s not anything we’ve ever done.” She glanced absently at the driver’s side cabinets in the back of the van, knowing full well that they were stocked with unregistered weapons, courtesy of Helena. But they hadn’t been used for anything more than threats that she knew of, so she brushed it aside. “It’s always been about extortion or blackmailing. Nothing too complicated, really. I mean,” she hesitated, “some of it went a little deeper, but,” she looked up at Tara again. “People usually did what we needed them to if we had the right intel.”_

Willow stepped out into the freezing air, pulling her barn coat close around her. Tara had given it back reluctantly. After all, the inside of the van would stay warm enough while she stayed inside. Tara moved around slowly in the dark, running her hands over the metal cabinet doors. The ones on the passenger side were unlocked, so she clicked them open. Inside was a tidy desk surface with several computer monitors and little boxes connected to huge wiring harnesses on the wall. Her fingers ran over the keyboard surface, imagining Willow working there, being something Tara had never imagined she could be. She knew the woman was smart, brilliant even, but this went too far. Computer genius? Hacker?

_“Not a hacker,” Willow frowned. “I don’t write viruses. I mean, I get into places that aren’t… open to the public, you could say. I mostly look for data to use against a person. Or I create it.” Tara nodded, trying to understand everything she was being told. “But this is different.” Willow looked around the area where they were parked, clearly nervous that they were still being watched. “I was always careful. I made the rules. No contact with marks, keep the jobs clean from before they even started. No gloating once they were done. Walk away. Truth is more important than honor,” Willow’s breath hitched. “Turns out I’m the one who broke my own rules.” She looked up at the woman opposite her. “Twice.”_

Willow walked to the edge of the water and looked out over the dark, glimmering surface. There was a slight breeze tonight. Her hair blew into her eyes for the third time. She brushed it back and noticed a dark figure to her right. She walked closer and stared into a face she hadn’t seen in four years. Lustrous brown hair peeked out of the edge of the hood over her head. Her skin was flawless, her gaze dark and dangerous. She was gorgeous in a way that could draw anyone in. “Faith?”

_“I left after the last job we did together,” Willow went on, trying to explain years of actions in the few minutes they had before they needed to get on the road again. “We nailed the bad guys, but we lost one of our own on the operation.”_

_“Bad guys?”_

_“Child trafficking,” Willow gritted her teeth at the memory. She had uncovered some terrible things, and there was nothing that local or federal authorities could do about it. “It took several years, all in all, but we got enough to put them away.” She sighed and sat back in the seat, staring out at the road. “One of my friends was still in the middle of things and got caught by the police.” Tara listened intently, wishing she could comfort Willow in some way. “I didn’t want to be part of it anymore after that, so I disappeared.”_

_“That’s when you found Luna’s farm?” Tara tried to make the connection, but so much still didn’t make sense to her._

“I have to hand it to you, Will,” the brunette sauntered closer, “you really fell off the grid for a while there.” She pulled back her hood and smiled maliciously. “Probably should have stuck with that.”

“What do you want, Faith?”

“Want?” she smiled wider and lifted her face to gaze up into the frozen night sky. “I don’t know. Maybe the two years I lost in detention would be nice to have back.” She held up her hand suddenly, cutting off the apology she knew was coming from Willow. “Don’t.” The redhead closed her mouth. “I know it was an accident or a mistake or whatever. And I know it wasn’t really even you.” She shifted her shoulders in her leather jacket, clearly feeling the cold herself. “That’s in the past.” Willow didn’t really believe her, but she wanted to. They’d been friends, after all, and the guilt of everything had pressed down on her over the years, no matter how hard she fought to keep it tucked away from sight.

“So why am I here?” Willow denied every instinct in her body and kept her eyes firmly off the van. She knew better than to draw attention to the woman hiding inside, and Faith hadn’t given her any indication that she knew Tara was so near. 

“I have a new boss,” Faith explained. “They got me out early, gave me a second chance.”

“Faith,” Willow edged closer to her old friend, “I don’t want back in. I left, and life got better.”

“Better?! How can you say that?” she spat with anger. “Do you know how many terrible people are out there right this instant?” Willow knew, and she knew why it upset Faith so much. Her own past was tainted by the crimes of others, by abuse, neglect, entrapment. For her, this was always personal. “It’s our duty to set things right.”

Willow hunched her shoulders and let the collar of her coat brush around her ears. “Who’s your employer?”

_“We worked for ourselves,” she went on. They buckled their seatbelts again and she put the van in drive. There was no extra time left if she was going to make it to the meeting spot. “I’ve heard of bigger operations like what we had going. Ones that poach the right players for the right jobs.” She glanced at the envelope in Tara’s shaking hands. “I just didn’t think…” She took a deep breath and merged back onto the freeway, checking her mirrors. The van was clunky and huge and made her feel awkward._

_“William used to-” Tara hesitated, looking to Willow for some indication that it was okay to talk so openly about her own past now that they were bringing up so much that had remained hidden. Willow lifted her eyebrows, but there was still apprehension in her eyes. “Sometimes I would get… recommended… for a business proposal.” She looked away, terrified of her own memories, of what Willow thought of her and what she had done. “He would use me to convince them.” Willow’s heart sank in her chest. She couldn’t even begin to think of how to soothe that kind of pain away. “Kind of used to being a pawn, I guess.”_

Faith pulled her right hand out of her pocket and handed over a slim business card. Willow grabbed it slowly. Faith’s hand released the card and trailed down the redhead’s arm to rest on her hip. They were too close, and Willow wanted nothing more than to turn around and run. Faith’s fingers curled into her hip, gripping her hard. Willow could feel the strength in her arm, feel herself being pulled closer. She put her lips close enough for Willow to feel them against her cheek. “Be at this address, 6 PM, Monday.” Willow felt the heat of her breath and blushed intensely from her body’s reaction to the other woman. 

“You have to leave her out of this,” Willow breathed. It came out as a whisper, a plea. 

Faith’s left hand rested along the side of Willow’s jaw, stroking her gently, keeping their bodies pressed lightly together. “That’s not up to me.” The cold air rushed in against her skin as the brunette slipped away into the darkness. Willow was left alone, holding the card in her shaking hand. She heard the sound of the motorcycle starting up not far away, the sound of gravel spitting from under the tires as Faith sped off. 

Willow pulled the van off the road onto the gravel drive as carefully as she could manage. She still hit a pothole and the van rocked. She looked over at the sleeping figure of Tara in the passenger seat. She was wrapped up in the barn coat again, her face pressed up against the vinyl seat back. Her eyelids fluttered for a moment as Willow continued down the rough path through the trees. “What time is it?” she yawned. Her arms stretch up and out as she sat higher in the seat.

“I dunno,” Willow checked the clock on the dash. “Just past four o’clock.” Tara rubbed her eyes and looked around at the thick woods surrounding the road. It twisted left and up a slight hill. Willow handled the bends with confidence. She had clearly driven this road in the dark enough times to know what she was doing, even without any sleep. The slight hint of the sky brightening long before sunrise crept through the trees, but the conifers made it impossible to see very far. Tara was just about to ask a question when Willow made a funny sound in her throat. “It’s probably best not to ask,” she warned.

“Bullshit before breakfast today?” Tara snapped back.

“Hey, I…” Willow faltered and hit another hole in the road. She slowed down slightly. “I only want to keep you safe.”

She looked genuinely hurt at Tara’s accusation, but it didn’t sway the blonde. She slipped out of the warm coat and started to comb her fingers through her tangled hair. This was not a glamorous way to spend a night, and her neck yelled at her for the sudden changes in position after sleeping scrunched up for several hours. “And I thought I had trust issues,” she mumbled to the closed window.

“That’s not fair, Tara.”

“Actually, I think that’s exactly what this is.” They glared at each other for a moment as the trees passed by the windows of the van. The front right tire hit a large rock forcing Willow to look out the windshield again. “I couldn’t let you in, so you’re going to hold me at arm’s length.” Her eyes stung from her own anger, and she instantly felt guilty for being so harsh. But it felt like the truth to her, and it was good to let that out into the open after all this time. 

“Dammit, Tara!” Willow hit the brakes hard and the van skidded in the gravel and dirt to a stop. She gripped the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles started to whiten. “I risked everything for you! Everything!” she shouted. Her chest heaved with the effort. “And now we’re stuck in this mess because of me.” She turned to Tara, let go of the wheel, sat back, and tried to calm her breathing. “Can’t you believe, just for once,” her voice was softer, quieter, “that someone might want to help you just because they love you and want you to be okay?” Tara tried to look her in the eye, but she faltered and ended up staring at her empty hands in her lap. Nothing had prepared her for Willow’s outburst, and she couldn’t bear to have her own weaknesses paraded out in front of her so clearly like this. Willow was right. It was almost impossible for her to believe that anyone could want to help her without wanting something in return, something that negated the help, that made her loath and despise who she was and what she was willing to do. 

“This is a safehouse,” Willow went on, letting the van roll down the dark road again. She clenched her shoulders and rolled her head a bit, trying to let the tension out of her body. “I can show you on a map where we are if you want to know.” Willow took a deep breath and suddenly looked very guilty, knowing she was about to make things worse. “I owe you a new phone once all of this is over.” 

Tara sat up and felt around for the familiar shape of her phone in a pocket, but it was nowhere. Willow turned the van to the right and a low house stretched along the hillside in front of them where the trees opened out to a meadow. “Drew is going to freak if I don’t call him after disappearing.” Her voice shook, but she gripped the door handle to steady herself. She had seen enough movies to know how a safehouse worked. Willow must have gotten rid of their phones long before they had gotten close to this location. The gravity of the situation hit her in the gut again for the first time in hours. Tara had been in some bad places before, but this felt scary, unknown.

“Drew has his instructions.” Willow put the van in park and turned it off. A light in a back window of the house turned on, and the warm glow lit up part of a wooden deck. Tara could see someone moving around inside. “He knows you’re… safe… with me.”

She pulled the keys from the ignition and leaned left to open the car door when she felt Tara’s hand on her right forearm. “Will you at least tell me what we’re about to walk into?” she nodded at the house, uncertainty in her whole body.

Willow looked up at the house and then back to Tara. “Maybe it’s a stretch to ask, but will you please try to trust me long enough to get inside and see for yourself?” She placed a warm hand over Tara’s.

Tara’s hand brushed against the top of the dried flowers of a lavender bush alongside the steps to the deck. The dim morning light was turning the sky a washed out yellow, and she could see the outline of mountains she didn’t recognize. The view from the deck was incredible. Everything around her was still, but the sound of birds calling and chirping in the cold air came from all directions. There was a heavy frost on the meadow of grasses between the house and the forest.

“Coffee’s already brewing, Scooter,” came a gruff, terribly British voice from the doorway. Tara whipped her head around to see a slouchy figure of a man somewhere past middle age, dressed in an open robe striped in faded blue. His hair was unkept, his glasses seemed a little lop-sided on his face, but his smile was warm and genuine.

Willow stepped over to him and caught him in a strong hug, resting her head against his chest. “Hi, Giles.” 

‘Scooter,’ Tara mouthed to Willow with her eyebrows raised.

“It’s a-” she tried to explain, “a muppet reference that’s clearly lost on you.” She straightened up. “This is Tara,” she reached out for Tara’s hand, which found its way to hers after a beat that made her wonder momentarily if Tara would leave her standing there with her hand outstretched forever.

Giles squinted at her and adjusted his glasses. “Does she know the rules?” he asked. She could sense him stiffen at her presence, or perhaps at her closeness to Willow. Willow patted his arm and pulled Tara into the house. He cleared his throat loudly and pulled the door closed. Tara felt herself being pulled into what felt like the hearth of a huge oven after spending most of the night in a van with poor heating. Willow sat her down on a soft leather couch by the huge fieldstone fireplace that had a roaring wood fire going in it. Everything around her was wood and stone, flagstone tile, exposed beams, wool throw blankets and softly worn, oversized leather couches or chairs. “I already turned on the heat and power in the workshop out back,” Giles spoke from the kitchen. 

He pulled stoneware mugs from the cupboards and poured steaming coffee into them. Willow took two and carried them to the couch to sit beside Tara. “Okay?” she whispered as she handed over the blue mug. Tara nodded. She heard the man continue to move around the kitchen, clearly no longer concerned about their presence. 

She sipped the hot drink. It would have been better with sugar and cream, but this wasn’t the time to complain. “What now?” She leaned closer to Willow, everything feeling different than it had just a few minutes before in the van. She was tired. They both were. It had been an impossibly stressful night, and she could see now how worn Willow looked. She set the mug on the coffee table and thought about how to apologize for her harsh tone and angry words. Her mouth went dry when she felt Willow’s hand lightly smooth the hair back behind her ear. The contact was so delicate, so soft. 

“You two lovebirds hungry?” Giles called out. He peeked around the edge of the kitchen wall with an egg carton in his hand.


	19. Chapter 19

“So how do you two… know each other?” Tara asked after she set her fork down. Food in her belly gave her a renewed sense of confidence, and she was ready for some answers.

Giles looked sternly at Willow who shrugged. Something unspoken passed between them, and he sat back, resigned. “We worked together. Before.” Willow wasn’t sure how much she should say, but she was willing to let Tara into more of the truth than Giles might be comfortable with. She looked up from her own plate, “Giles is a, uh… he’s a…”

The man pushed his chair back from the table and stood up, picking up plates to clear the table. “I create conspiracy theories,” he said as he reached over Tara. She leaned back, not sure how much of his gruffness was directed at her. She felt his gaze cut into them both. “I only work the big jobs.” He carried everything to the sink and started running the hot water. “What’s your part in this?” He kept his back turned as he asked.

“She’s-” Willow started, cutting off Tara’s response. They looked at each other, and both fervently wished they could hear the other’s thoughts. 

“I’m the pawn,” Tara jumped in. She stood up abruptly. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” she glanced at the redhead. 

Willow slid her chair back and got to her feet, extending her arms out as she felt things spinning out of control. “Stop.” Giles shut off the water and looked out the window over the deck and the meadow beyond. “Giles,” he flinched, feeling her pointing to his back, “chill out. Tara’s not a threat. She understands the importance of…” she looked at Tara sideways, “propriety. I trust her, and it’s my fault she got dragged into this anyway.”

Giles reached for the towel, dried his hands, and turned around to lean back against the front of the sink. Tara balanced on the balls of her feet, looking between the two others, thinking about the door behind her. Sticky situations weren’t new to her, but having someone stand up for her was very, very new. If she hadn’t felt so exposed, so utterly cut off from everything familiar, she might have thought it was romantic. Perhaps chivalrous was a better way to look at it.

“You would never have taken risks like this before,” he warned.

“That’s not true,” she shook her head. “We just didn’t know what we had to lose back then.” She turned to look into Tara’s scared eyes. “Things are different now.”

“Not for me,” Giles spat back at her. He threw the towel roughly onto the counter. 

“I asked for your help. You could have turned me down.”

Giles snorted and rolled his eyes, lifted his glasses up and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Right. That would have gone so well for both of us.” He adjusted the glasses onto his face again and stood straighter, folding his arms around himself. “Where else were you going to run off to?” Willow looked away, knowing there wasn’t another viable option within two day’s drive of her problems. “And I wouldn’t have put it past you to drain my off-shore accounts as punishment.”

“He’s joking,” Willow shifted nervously, looking at Tara briefly. 

“I’m not,” he added quickly. Tara gulped, seeing the look that passed between them again. “You’re a force to be reckoned with, Scoot. That’s why they want you. You know that.” Giles started opening cupboard doors, looking for something. “Have you got a plan?” He opened three more doors, clearly frustrated. “I never should have quit smoking.”

“Sarah keeps a couple packs in the van,” Willow mumbled. Giles nodded and stopped searching his own kitchen. “She’s going to kick your skinny little ass when she finds out you called me and brought the van this far out.”

“I’ll be lucky if that’s all she does,” Willow tried to laugh, but her voice sounded too forced, too scared from all of the details crushing in on her from every direction. 

Giles breathed heavily and rested his forehead in his left hand. He glared up at Tara, who was still standing close to the door to the deck. He could feel the jumpiness of her nerves. Sunlight was streaming through all of the windows now, and she was lit up with colors of red and gold, brilliant and shining, highlighting how beautiful she was. He softened just enough to see her genuinely, knowing what Willow’s investment was in all of this. “I’ll go make up the guest bedroom.” He turned his glare to Willow, but she could see that he was resigned. He walked slowly past her, adding one last item, “Figure out what you need. Make me a list.” He walked out, leaving the two women alone in the kitchen.

Tara let go of the breath she had been holding. She felt a little dizzy. “He’s just,” Willow started. “He’s gone through…” She walked over to Tara. “There were some things…” She puffed up her cheeks and blew air through her lips, whistling tunelessly. “Complete sentences can be really hard.” Willow stretched out her hand, palm up. “You want some air?”

“Good call, Scooter,” Tara smiled and took the outstretched hand. 

“Inappropriate for ten points,” Willow snickered and opened the door, led them both out into the brisk morning air. They walked along a gravel path that took them around the edge of the meadow. Tara realized now that it was covered in wildflowers, but the frost and lack of rain had dried and frozen what was left of the plants into a stillness that only responded to the firmest breezes. They walked further, coming to a long, high tunnel greenhouse that shone frosty and white in the sunlight. Willow unlatched the door on the end and directed Tara to walk inside. It was warmer, but this wasn’t a heated space. “Giles gave me the idea to start farming,” Willow started rambling as they walked through the rows of things growing under the frost blankets. It was hard to tell what was being cultivated, but Willow moved around the space with such confidence that Tara cared less about the plants than she did about the chance to watch the other woman relax in her natural environment. “He said I had a knack for this stuff.”

Tara brushed her hand along Willow’s back where she leaned over a bed of what looked like bright green spinach leaves. Willow turned and stood, feeling Tara’s body so close to her that she almost needed to take a step back. “Can I apologize?” Tara asked quietly. 

Her face was right next to Willow’s. She leaned in and Willow felt her eyelashes brush against her cheek. “For what?” she asked awkwardly. Her hands reached forward and touched the barest edge of Tara’s jeans, finding their way to rest in the small of her back, and suddenly they were in an embrace that took her breath away. Tara’s hands moved up along Willow’s shoulders, brushing her long hair back, finding the exposed skin of her neck. Her lips drifted over the skin under Willow’s ear. She breathed through her mouth intentionally and felt the woman in her arms shudder. The redhead closed her eyes and leaned into her. “You have this… this way of…” Willow’s hands reached under the edge of Tara’s shirt and felt the warmth of her back against her fingers, against the palms of her hands. “You pull me in, and-” Tara nipped at the flesh under her ear, and Willow couldn’t hold back the moan that slipped out.

“It’s not my fault,” Tara whispered in between the tiny kisses she trailed up and down the redhead’s exposed neck. “You’ve got this… gravity about you,” she stepped closer, pressing more of herself into Willow’s embrace. “Can I finish apologizing now?”

Willow smiled and melted into the heat of Tara’s touch, of her soft lips and the nip of her sharp teeth. “If this is an apology, then it’s long overdue, and you have a LOT to apologize for.”

“That’s true,” Tara breathed right into Willow’s ear, sending tingles up and down her entire body. “Where should I start?” she asked playfully. 

Her hands shifted Willow’s head the other direction, lifting her chin up and over. She leaned in and brushed the side of her neck with the tip of her tongue. Willow moaned again and pulled her hands higher up Tara’s back, feeling the edge of her bra rub against her fingertips. “I think you left a candy wrapper in my car once,” Willow tried. Tara nodded and let her teeth graze Willow’s shoulder. She nudged the edge of her shirt back with her chin and teased her tongue along the woman’s collarbone. “And,” Willow tilted her head back to allow Tara to kiss her way up her neck to her jawline, “there was that time you kissed me and then made me drive you to Drew’s house.”

Tara stopped, pulled her head back slightly, and grinned. “I don’t remember that.”

“No?” Willow’s eyes snapped open. 

“Not at all.”

“Really.” Willow blushed so hard that she wanted to cringe from her reaction. “I thought it was kinda… memorable.” Was she teasing, or did she seriously not remember that moment? Willow’s confidence drained from her and her hands suddenly felt like they were intruding where they weren’t supposed to be, but she knew that was ridiculous. She could feel the passion coming off Tara in waves. 

“Maybe,” Tara leaned in and kissed her cheek lightly, “you could remind me how it felt?” She kissed the corner of her mouth. “Spark my memory?”

Willow smiled widely. She turned just the tiniest amount and caught Tara’s lips with her own. Her arms pulled the woman close. Their tongues sought each other out, searching, tasting, pressing into one another with a hunger that had been building so long it felt like they wouldn’t be able to satisfy themselves without breathing each other in for hours and days and weeks. Tara broke their contact first, a laugh pouring out of her mouth. “You’re laughing at me now? After all that teasing?” Willow pouted. She pressed her forehead against Tara’s, desperate not to let her go.

“It’s just,” Tara smiled, “it’s a shame you ditched my cellphone.” Her hand reached down and slipped between Willow’s thighs, pressing against her. “It really seemed to work for you before that first kiss.”

Her hand was firm, unyielding, and Willow nearly lost her balance from the intensity of her touch. She panted, barely able to keep talking. “We’re standing,” she breathed again, “standing in the middle of a greenhouse…”

“Mm-hmm,” Tara kissed her again and refused to release her hand from Willow’s center. 

“There’s a lot of dirt,” Willow squeaked out, gripping Tara’s back again, letting her nails dig into her flesh harder. The sensation of their mouths together was so amazing that she was willing to do anything to keep her close. Then something changed, some part of them, something in Tara perhaps, shifted. Her hand faltered, but she pressed her body into Willow even harder. She wrapped her arms around Willow and pulled her in desperately, shaking from head to toe. “Hey,” Willow soothed her, taking her face into her hands. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Tara rubbed her face against Willow’s, and her tears caught in both of their lashes. “I can’t-” Tara tried to speak, but she choked on a sob. Everything suddenly overwhelmed her.

“You don’t have to!” Willow ran her fingers through the long blonde hair that brushed against her own face. “I’m fine! We’re fine,” she tried to rock Tara in her arms, hold her as lovingly as she could. “Everything is fine.”

“Jesus, Willow,” Tara threw her head back and pushed her shoulders away with both hands so that they could look each other in the eye. “Do you have to be so damn perfect all the time?” Willow didn’t have a snappy comeback. She just stared, not sure what to do next. The constant mixed signals were pushing her over the edge. Tara was smiling, but she was crying. It seemed like Willow just couldn’t get this right. “I was trying to say,” Tara started again, “that I… I can’t be without you. I can’t lose you again.”

“Oh,” Willow’s eyebrows raised, suddenly understanding a bit better. 

“Can’t you tell how I feel?” Tara gripped Willow’s shoulders again and hugged her closer, keeping their foreheads together. “I’m all over you. I’m crazy about you.” Everything in her body screamed out at her to dive into Willow’s warmth, to give every ounce of herself into the heat and the passion between them. “I’ve been in love with you from the moment you… fixed my sink.”

She smiled and bit Tara’s bottom lip, holding it in her mouth as they stood together. She let go and kissed her way down the woman’s neck. “I love you, too. And I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.” She nuzzled Tara’s neck affectionately, warming her back with both hands. “But we should probably…” Willow cleared her throat, tried to stand up a little straighter. “We’re still in the greenhouse,” she muttered, her fingers still lightly grazing Tara’s ribs. She inclined her head to the back wall where there was another door. “The workshop is that way.”

“Like a wood shop or something?” Tara was confused. Her fingers were tangled in Willow’s hair, and she didn’t want to let this moment end. Willow laughed once, then reluctantly withdrew her hands and pulled the edge of Tara’s sweater down to cover her back. It was still cold in the greenhouse. She took Tara’s hand from the back of her neck and led her down the dirt path. The door at the back opened to a concrete patio and another building, more like a barn than anything else she had seen so far. Willow closed the door behind them, and the warmth of the space made the greenhouse feel suddenly icy in comparison. Tara spun in place as the lights came on, and she found herself in the middle of a large, high ceiling room with multiple desks, white boards, clean worktops, and more computers than a lab at college. “What is this place?”

“Standard base of operations. Giles converted it a while back. I did the wiring.” She pulled out a rolling chair for Tara and one for herself, sat down in front of an extensive computer setup, and switched several things on. Tara sat down slowly, feeling like a stranger in a very private space that wasn’t meant for her. Willow pointed behind them, “There’s a fridge over that way, a couple of couches if you want to sit in something more comfortable.” The computers booted up, and she typed some random things into the keyboard. “Giles usually keeps a stash of junk food out here, but he has plenty of healthy stuff in the house if you’re hungry. He grows nearly everything himself in the greenhouse and garden.” Willow ran her fingers through her hair to push it back as she settled into the workspace. “We’re completely off the grid here. Power, internet, everything.”

Tara felt a little overwhelmed by everything around her. She sat at the edge of the chair and stared at the computer screens. Willow clicked on things and opened windows and mumbled as she worked. After a few short minutes she turned back to Tara with a satisfied smile. “That can run without me for a while,” she said. She suddenly saw the disorientation in Tara’s face. “I’m freaking you out, huh.”

“No,” Tara blinked twice, then focused on Willow’s eyes. “Yeah. Maybe a little.”

“Thirsty?” They wandered over to the kitchenette. Willow brought two bottles of water out of the fridge and handed one to Tara. They sat down on the couch and leaned back to look at the ceiling at the same time. “So.”

“So,” Tara answered.

“How was bowling last night?”

“I was amazing,” she answered without hesitation. “Drew sucked.”

“Was the beer any good?”

“Nope.” Tara turned her head. “Who was that woman on the pier?”

Willow blew a lungful of air out of her mouth very slowly. “That was Faith. Giles’s daughter.”

“Oh.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Like ex-complicated?” Tara turned her head back to face the ceiling again. “I saw the… the way she touched you… kissed you.”

“It wasn’t-” Willow cringed at the memory. “We weren’t-” She wished she could erase the entire event. “It’s not a thing.” She closed her eyes and slumped forward putting her elbows on her knees. “She’s like…”

“Sexy dangerous?” Tara tried to fill in the missing words.

Willow laughed. “That’s a little too accurate for comfort. We were friends. We were close.” She glanced toward Tara, “but not like that.”

Tara rolled her head back onto its side. “So nothing to be jealous about?”

Willow quirked her head to the side and smiled. “Jealous, huh?” She leaned over and pressed her lips to Tara’s. Her kiss was slow and soft. Her fingers played with the hair that draped over Tara’s ear. She felt an arm sneak under her waist and encourage her up and over Tara’s lap to straddle her on the couch.

“Am I distracting you from important work?” Her tone was completely insincere.

“I don’t care,” Willow whispered into her ear with her tongue at the edge of her lips. The same action had been enough to drive her to distraction in the greenhouse, and she hoped it would have the same effect on Tara now. But this was different. Her legs were wide apart on either side of the other woman’s hips. Her body was pressed against Tara’s, whose hands had already found their way up under her sweatshirt to the sensitive skin just under her breasts. “Should we-” she gasped in between breaths, “Is this okay with you?” She looked intently into Tara’s eyes. 

Tara smiled back. “It’s not exactly…” she kissed Willow’s neck again, slipping her hand higher under the woman’s shirt, feeling her firm nipples through the light material, “not quite like I’d imagined, you know?”

“What did you imagine?” Willow asked, slowing the rhythm of her hips grinding against the woman below her. 

“I don’t know,” she blushed.

“You won’t tell me?” Willow nudged her softly, sitting back to pull at the front of Tara’s jeans with both hands. The blush crept further down Tara’s neck. The zipper opened slowly at the pressure from her hands, and Willow happily slipped her fingers along the edge of Tara’s underwear, around to the point of her hip, then slightly under the edge of the material, just far enough that her fingertips wound through her soft hair. “Rose petals? Satin sheets?”

Tara giggled in between gasps for air at the sensation of Willow’s hands all over her. Both hands were on her hips now, and Tara could barely contain her need to feel their skin pressed against one another. “Can we… Is there?” she struggled to form a coherent thought. 

“Your vision didn’t include a couch?” Willow snickered. She crept back and guided Tara to lay down on the couch with room for her to slip in alongside. “We can wait for… later.” She cleared her throat, obviously pushing back what she wanted, what she craved. 

Tara wove her fingers in between Willow’s. She slowly pulled the woman’s hand down along the length of her body, firmly pushing her fingers back under the edge of her worn jeans, beyond the lace edge of fabric beneath, deeper still until Willow could feel the heat and moisture that her own kisses had created. “Will you just-” her breath hitched with the movement of Willow’s fingers, “just stay close? Hold me?” She lifted her leg up and over Willow’s hip, inviting her in with her whole body, clutching her desperately with arms, legs, anything she could use to pull them closer together. “Don’t let go,” she whispered in between kisses.

Willow smiled into her kisses, poured all of her longing into the slow rhythm of her hand exploring the soaked folds of Tara’s sex. “I’m not letting go,” she mumbled against Tara’s lips. She grazed slowly along her clit and felt her body stiffen with need, with a hunger that drove her hips to thrust against Willow’s hand involuntarily. They rocked against one another, so close that Willow’s movements were restricted, but that didn’t seem to matter. Tara moaned and gasped into her love’s open mouth as her hand moved faster in circles, back and forth with the grasping motion of the blonde’s hips. “Please don’t stop?” Tara pulled at Willow’s hair with so much force that she would have cried out, but there wasn’t time before she was completely smothered in Tara’s mouth, her whole body clutching her with every ounce of strength brought on by the waves of orgasm that rocked her from the back of the couch onto Willow’s slim form. 

They nearly slid off the edge of the cushions, but Willow twisted her shoulders forward and pressed them into safety again. She withdrew her hand carefully to the shudders of the woman she held, comfortably settling her grip over Tara’s exposed hip. “Not wasting any time, huh?” she playfully whispered into the woman’s soft neck. 

Tara tried to hide her face against Willow’s chest, but the redhead lifted her chin with the hand that, moments before, had provided such thrilling sensations over every inch of her skin that Tara couldn’t contain the slight sob that sounded from deep within her. “I’m a bit needy,” she shrugged.

“You can be anything you want,” Willow whispered back, kissing her lips lightly.


	20. Chapter 20

Sarah and Helena stared at the house from across the street, under the cover of darkness and overgrown rhododendron bushes, both dressed in black, both silent and unmoving. Streetlights over the road beyond the parked cars threw pink and orange light and shadow over the sidewalk and simple picket fences around the yards. Inside the house they watched as a young man, tall and lanky, moved around the house to music they couldn’t hear. They watched him slip to the kitchen at the back of the house, out of sight from their current position. Helena moved away silently. They would each take up a position to monitor for as long as they needed before moving in. It was late, and Willow had been gone with the van since the night before. Sarah knew she was on the run, knew she could cover her tracks better than anyone, but she also knew the girl had a weakness.

Time wore on into the night, and their opportunity presented itself once the person in the house had settled onto the couch to watch television. The blue light of the screen illuminated the interior. He never heard the doors open, never heard the footsteps around him.

Sarah held her gun at the level of the back of his neck, reached out with her arm around his neck, and pinned him to the couch in one swift motion. Helena was in front of him, holding him in place with a terrifyingly steady gaze and the muzzle of her handgun. He struggled out of fear and shouted at them, “Fucking hell!”

“Calm down,” Sarah advised calmly from behind him. He breathed huge gulps of air and shook under her grip. “That’s better. Now if you can relax, I’ll take my arm off your chest. Make a move and my sister here will shoot your brains all over this couch.”

“I’m calm,” he answered, holding his arms to the side. “I’m calm.” He said the words as much to himself to convince him that he needed to chill out, but it was hard to come to terms with a home invasion in the middle of the night. “What do you want?”

“I like a snack,” Helena suggested.

Sarah rolled her eyes at her sister and slowly released the man on the couch from under her arm. She kept the gun pressed against the back of his skull. “Tell us where Willow is.”

“What?” he craned his neck around to look at her and instantly ducked at the nearness of the gun to his cheek. “She’s not here.”

“We know that, stupid,” Sarah spat at him. 

“Who are you?” he asked them, shifting his eyes from one sister to the next.

“Friends of Red,” Helena smiled in a menacing way. 

“Friends with guns,” he raised his eyebrows. 

“Where’s the other girl?” Sarah backed away a step so that he could look at them with less movement. 

“You mean Tara?”

“Sure. Whatever. Where’s Tara?”

“She’s-” he stopped himself from saying anything else. He took a steadying breath and looked at Sarah with a challenge in his eyes. “She’s none of your business. You broke into her house, you’ve been surveilling her, and now you’re going to shoot her best friend? I can see what great friends of Willow’s you must be.”

Sarah laughed and sat on the arm of the couch with one leg. She swept the hood from over her head and brushed the hair over her shoulders to the side. “Listen, uh,” she looked up at him with a question.

“Drew.”

“Right. Drew. Your friend is in some deep shit.” He sighed and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to agree with her, but it was obvious that she was right. “We need to know where they are.”

“Listen, it’s not that you two aren’t creepy like the twins from the Shining, and with the guns in the face thing it’s pretty tough to turn you down,” he sat up a little straighter, gathering himself, “but I’ve faced queens armed with cans of Aquanet and Bic lighters, so this is really just another chapter in a long line of fucked up nights in my life.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’ve been watching this house long enough you should already have all the answers you want anyway.”

The sisters looked at each other. “How do you know this?” Helena asked quietly.

“They guy who walks by every ninety minutes?” he looked sideways at her. “Always has a phone in his hand. Makes the rounds, apparently. He’s not a regular in this neighborhood, and trust me,” he emphasized the words, “I know what every single man in this neighborhood looks like.”

“Son of a bitch,” Sarah put her gun away. Helena did the same. 

“Wait,” Drew stood up and looked out the window in a panic, “that hasn’t been you two watching the house?”

“When did you first notice this guy walking past?”

Drew rushed his hair back with both hands. “Last night. When I came here without Tara.” He took a chance, “Willow asked me to come make sure the house was okay, and she said they wouldn’t be back for a while. Not to worry. Everything was fine.” Sarah rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I knew she was lying, but I couldn’t exactly demand that she bring Tara back.”

“What else did she say?”

“Nothing, really,” he paced the living room floor. “I was mad, you know. Tara vanished in the middle of bowling, then I didn’t hear anything for hours. I freaked. So I yelled when she called, but I never got to talk to Tare. Willow said she was asleep, they were clearly driving.”

“He is good best friend,” Helena mumbled. She started to wander toward the kitchen.

“That guy was here walking by when I let myself in. He looked at me.”

Sarah pulled a curtain aside and looked at the dark street. “What’s he look like?”

“White with no tan, crew cut dark brown hair, blue eyes, six foot two, skinny. Athletic. Probably has amazing abs. Keeps his shirt tucked in under his down jacket, black leather belt, brown shoes.” Sarah turned all the way around to look at Drew in amazement. “I’m a details person,” he smiled.

“You’re bloody Sherlock Holmes.”

“Oh no,” he laughed, “way too repressed for my taste. I prefer to think of myself as a really sexy Doctor Who.”

Sarah couldn’t help but like him more, despite her constant need to distance herself. “When is he coming around again?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“Well,” Sarah retrieved the gun from her waistband, “buckle up, Doctor. We’re about to get some answers.”

Tara drifted in and out, settling herself into the warmth of her surroundings. She could hear the voices nearby, but they didn’t matter. Her mind was still going over all of the details of Willow’s body pressed against her. She smiled and snuggled in under the blanket. Her eyes fluttered open for a moment, taking in her surroundings. The lights were dim near her, and Willow had clearly covered her so that she could sleep.

“… got to be kidding. I’ve written six different algorithms already. This one is still running.”

“Did you try this sequence? What’s that part there?”

“I tried that gap. No luck. But look at these.”

She sat up and rubbed her eyes with both hands, a stretch overtaking her cramped limbs. Giles and Willow turned to look at her sheepishly.

“I’m sorry, we were trying to let you sleep,” the older man apologized. He stood and pointed at the table in the center of the room. “If you’re hungry…” There was a tray of sandwiches and fruit, clearly the health food mentioned earlier. Tara nodded and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders as she worked her way toward them. “If this is the best you can figure out,” Giles went on, “then what option do we have?”

Willow sighed heavily and leaned back in her chair. There was a Rubik’s cube near her keyboard, and the surface of the desk was covered in paper with scribbles and notes. Tara looked for a view of the outdoors to see what time it was, but she noticed that the building didn’t appear to have any windows in that room. Maybe it didn’t have windows at all. “I think I just go in,” Willow tilted her head back and closed her eyes, obviously exhausted. 

“That’s not without risk,” Giles shook his head. “There could be so much we don’t know.”

“What are we talking about?” Tara inserted herself quietly into the conversation. She picked up an apple and leaned against the edge of the table. 

Willow looked at her with something in her eyes that approximated fear. “I have to go to Vector Corp tomorrow. No way around it.” She pulled the business card up from the desk and held it out to Tara. The front was plain, boring, only supplying the company name, an address, and a single contact number. She flipped it over, but the back was blank.

“The way around it is not to go,” Giles shot back. “We have no idea what you’d be walking into.”

“Well that’s not entirely true,” Willow mumbled. The others narrowed in on her. “I got in,” she explained, “there just isn’t anything I can exploit. No big red flags.” Giles and Tara looked at each other and then back at the redhead. She typed on the keyboard and pulled up some legitimate site fronts of org charts, mission statements, and other things to be expected from any major company. A second computer monitor ran lines of XML code as she worked through the sites. “International, thinly veiled sub-government entity, sixteen employees with level three or higher data clearance,” she pointed to the screen, “this one I can’t explain, but I can’t dig deeper with the time I have now. I can find some heavily redacted files on a couple of their projects, but the edges are super clean.” She turned back to face them. “They’re not Mary Poppins, but they have someone good on their end protecting their data. They know what they’re doing.” She pointed at the business card in Tara’s hand. “And if they gave me that, then they wanted me to have this time to do my own research. They wanted me to hit this brick wall.”

“I’ve never seen any wall that could stop you,” Giles raised his eyebrows and adjusted his glasses. He glanced sideways at Tara, concerned that her presence was holding Willow back somehow. 

Willow saw the look and new instantly what was on his mind. And, at least internally, she knew he was right. She was holding back, uncertain for the first time in her life if this was the right thing for her to do. She had seen some unsettling things in the data, but she truly hadn’t had the time to finish her research, and the distraction of everything now involving Tara was throwing her off balance. “There are some patterns.”

“What kind of patterns?” Tara leaned in. She looked at the screens, but it wasn’t meaningful to her.

“Well, these for one,” she pointed at a set of file names. “These have been deleted, and I recovered them, but the files themselves are corrupt. Funny thing is, the corruption was intentional. It’s like they scribbled all over them with ink before they threw them away.” Tara squinted, but she couldn’t see the scribbles. “They should be using a Gutmann method for erasing, but this looks… sloppy.”

“That seems silly for such a big organization,” Giles mumbled as he rubbed his face for the third time. “I thought you said it looked like they had someone good running things on their side.”

“Well they do,” Willow went on. “That’s how I noticed this. It’s,” she stopped and looked at Giles with concern in her eyes, “this is a pattern I wrote the script for back when we did that job that involved the drop to Chicago PD. I must have been, like, sixteen or something.” She glanced at Tara, nervous about what she would think as she started to learn more of the past that Willow had worked so hard to hide.

“It’s your pattern?” Giles stood up. He walked to the table and rested his hands on its cool surface.

“I’d know it anywhere, Giles. It was a long time ago, but this isn’t the sort of thing I can forget. It’s almost like…” she hesitated. “It’s like someone is trying to flatter me or something.” She watched him carefully from behind. “There’s more.” 

“How much more?” he asked without turning.

“I have a list of some things I’ll be needing.” She rummaged through the notes on the desk and came up with a sheet of paper that contained several lines of handwriting. “It looks like they’re using a main power grid with two independent backups, non-regulated. We’ll have to plant three separate units to take those out before I can run a corruption program from inside. Timing will be critical.”

Giles sat down again and rubbed the grey stubble along his jawline. “If they know who you are, they have to see this coming. Your record speaks for itself.” 

Willow nodded. “They might.”

“Hangon,” Giles leaned toward the far monitor, holding his mug over Willow’s keyboard. She tried to scoot everything out of the way in case he spilled his drink. “Can you zoom in on that?”

“The org chart?” Willow scrunched her face up at him. “We don’t even know if that’s real. It could all be fake. I haven’t researched any of these yet.” She enlarged the image and panned to the section he was pointing to. There was an image of a terrifyingly stern-looking woman with dark brown skin, incredibly dark eyes, and a nearly bald scalp. Her very presence on the screen was commanding. “Ophelia Murdock, Director of Domestic Technology and Infrastructure. She looks intense.”

Giles sat back and adjusted his glasses. “This changes everything.”

“You know her?” Willow looked shocked that Giles could have interacted with anyone. 

“We should…” he looked slowly at Tara, “perhaps we might discuss that later.’

“Why do they want you?” Tara asked. She wasn’t sure she wanted an answer, but the image growing in her mind was terrifying enough without having details, and it was clear that Giles was only grudgingly allowing her to be involved in this entire operation.

Willow visibly struggled with the answer. She folded her hands together in her lap and opened her mouth several times before she could find the words to express herself. “I’m good at data exploitation. I can find things … if I have enough time to work,” she glanced at the computer beside her with regret. “But mostly, I can create things.”

Giles laughed, and the sound made them all jump. “She’s being modest. Scooter has the ability to be a god with data.” He sized her up and chuckled again. “She could create an entirely new past for you that even you wouldn’t be able to question once she was done with the details,” he pointed at Tara. “And no one can tell where the truth ends and the fiction begins.” He glanced at Willow. “The other geeks out there try to emulate her, but she can build worlds around them.”

Tara bit into the apple she had been holding and tried to come to terms with the description of the woman she had fallen in love with. Everything about Willow had been so honest, so truthful. To imagine her building lies made Tara’s head hurt. “So they want you to lie for them?” Willow shrugged, feeling a little hollow at how easily Tara had summed up the conversation. “Why is this a problem?” She looked back and forth at them. “Just go do the job, then tell them you’re done.”

“It’s not likely they’ll let her leave. They could hold federal charges over her for all we know. If they’re subgovernment, they could hold her even without legal charges.”

Giles’s words hit Tara like a fist to her stomach. She knew what it felt like to be owned by someone, to be unable to walk away, no matter what you wanted or felt or thought. She didn’t know the specifics of Willow’s past well enough to know what they might be able to hold over her, but she didn’t need to know. She dropped the apple onto the table behind her and crouched down in front of Willow’s rolling desk chair. Her hands found their way into Willow’s grasp. “We’ll figure this out.” There were dark circles under her eyes, and Tara could feel her trembling slightly. “You found me. You saw me for who I really am. And you… you saved me.” Tara felt tears rising and a choking sensation in her throat. “So this time we figure it out together.”

“It’s not as simple as being brave. This isn’t the kind of operation we’ve undertaken before,” Giles warned. “Time won’t be on our side at all.”

Willow refused to look away from Tara. “She’s right, Giles. We do this together.” She squeezed the hands in her own. “It just means you’re going to have to meet the rest of my family.”


	21. Chapter 21

Drew clutched the seatbelt across his chest with both hands. He wasn’t used to feeling anxiety like this. It had taken over an hour of watching, waiting, surveilling, and then following in a bizarre pattern he couldn’t understand before they had arrived downtown, parked in some out of the way location that didn’t look like it could have anything to do with Tara being missing. He stretched out his hands and fingers and rubbed the back of his neck where the tension was worst. He had spent so many sleepless nights holding Tara, soothing her when she cried, comforting her when she couldn’t bear being alone. She was the only family he had, and he needed her more than he had ever had to admit. Her absence now was pulling at something inside of him, and he wished for nothing more than to reach out and feel her nearby. 

Willow had assured him, promised him that Tara would be okay, that everything she was doing was to protect her and keep her safe. His mind turned to bitter thoughts of the redhead as he sat in the cold car and waited. He didn’t want to hate her or condemn her, but something inside of him was being split away, and it created such pain that he had to tighten his chest with each breath to contain it. Willow was the easiest thing to blame. He knew better. He knew he couldn’t prevent the two of them from falling in love with each other, that there was something about them that clearly yearned to be together despite how much they each pushed and shoved and raged against it. They were more inevitable than the poetry Drew tried to write about his own life, and so much more rewarding to read, to revel in. He hated himself for feeling so human, so easily bent by his own love for Tara, for his own need to have her in his life. It was easier to be cruel in light of what he was learning about Willow’s friends. Maybe they were business partners, perhaps they were even wanted criminals. All of it justified the anger that burned through his skin as he sat in silence.

The car door opened and closed, and he found himself looking into the incredibly dark eyes of the woman he was forced to trust for the sake of getting closer to finding out what was happening with his best friend. “You look like hell,” she raised her eyebrows at him. “Brooding is bad for your complexion.” He snorted and looked away. “Helena’s setting up her end of things. You’ve been helpful. But you can go home now.” 

She aimed the key for the ignition, but Drew’s hand caught hers. “I’m not leaving.”

Sarah stopped and looked at his hand. Her eyes found his in the dark, saw that they were red and tired. She knew the feelings powering through his veins, and she understood how destructive they could be, but she was wiser than to think that she could talk him off of that ledge. “Fine. But I won’t have you being a liability. You stay in the car.”

“I just want to get Tara out safe.” He wasn’t begging. This was a demand. Sarah just nodded. She tilted the seat back a notch. They weren’t going to be leaving anytime soon. “Why is she involved in this shit anyway?”

She shrugged and fished in her pockets for a pack of cigarettes. “Whoever is after Willow needed a hook.”

“What did you call her?” he shouted, suddenly defensive.

“Easy, Freddie Mercury.” She lit her smoke and eyed him sideways. “Hook. The thing you bring the fish in on.” Drew settled back into his seat. “They threaten the girlfriend and you can damn well bet Red will do whatever they want. I mean,” she snorted, laughing internally at something.

“What?” he looked hopefully at her.

Sarah leaned her head back and trailed smoke out the open window with a sardonic look on her face. “She’s not stupid. It’s the same tactic we use. Everybody does.” Drew took a deep breath and choked a little on the smoky smell in the car. It would take a week of hot showers to get this stink out of his hair. “But you’d have to be a damn fool to play that woman.”

Drew thought about Willow, her small frame, how her voice could barely cut through a crowd of three people. “She’s smart, but…”

“Smart?” Sarah laughed openly at him. “Yeah, you could say that.” She took a long drag and let silence fill the space for a few minutes. “You really don’t know anything about her. Do you.”

Tara closed the door behind them and looked around the bedroom. It was simple and clean. A queen bed with a handmade quilt was flanked by two bedside tables, each with its own lamp. Willow closed the curtains over the windows that overlooked the meadow behind the house. “There’s some of my old clothes in the dresser,” she motioned to the other side of the room near Tara. “I don’t even know what’s in there, but it’s gotta be better than wearing the same thing for two days. Bathroom,” she pointed the other way. “It looks like Giles left us some clean towels.”

“When are you going to tell me?”

Willow stopped wandering around the room and noticed Tara had sat at the edge of the bed. “Uh, tell you?”

“There’s-” her brow creased, “there’s so much I clearly don’t know. I thought there was stuff… like things in your past that I didn’t know, but…” She struggled to find the right way to ask. “I think this is bigger.” Willow looked away but sat next to her. Tara could feel the tension between them. “I get not… n-not wanting to t-talk,” she clenched her fists in frustration at the stuttering. Something like resentment had been building in her, and she hated it for how it brought out the worst in her, that part of her that couldn’t force words out when she needed them most. The funny part was, she couldn’t truly resent Willow for holding back the truth after what she had put her through. Tara had been the one to set that tone first.

“I’m not trying to keep anything from you, Tara.” Tears burned at the edge of Willow’s eyes, threatening to grab hold of her. “But it is big. There’s a lot.”

Tara’s hand reached out and covered the redhead’s. Her touch was gentle and soothing. “You could have chosen a lot of d-different ways to react to my secrets.”

“Well, I did kind of leave,” Willow admitted. “I mean, I wasn’t really trying… I didn’t want to go. But,” she suddenly looked into Tara’s blue eyes and stopped trying to hold back the tears, “I got caught up in this thing I used to be, and it’s complicated, and I needed the space to clean everything up, and then I owed Sarah another job since she helped, and Helena needed Oreos, and,” she sniffed, “and it all kind of went to hell in that parking lot.”

Tara smiled warmly and wiped a tear from the woman’s face. “What the fuck is up with all these other women I have to worry about?” Willow laughed, a smile bursting forth before she was ready for it. “Seriously, just how many do I have to compete with?”

“Sarah is,” she searched for a way to explain. “She’s more like family. Like the kind of family you sometimes want to avoid at reunions.” She grimaced. “Helena is her twin. They spent all of their childhood apart. They found each other when they were in captivity.” The smile left Tara’s face very suddenly. She felt the room grow colder. “One of those quirks of fate, I guess. Faith was there, too.”

“And you were-”

“I was the geeky teenager who had trouble making friends,” Willow smiled awkwardly. “I didn’t fit in too well, so I stuck with computers. Taught myself some coding, starting hacking into places for fun. I got into some pretty dark places, and that’s when I noticed some patterns. It was simple stuff at first. I’d write a script to identify the pattern I was looking for, run it, analyze the results. Pretty soon I’d identified a communication platform for a trafficking ring.” Once Willow started talking, it was like a flood of memories came pouring out all at once. It was hard to keep the timeline straight, but she tried to pace herself. “I traced the activity, found the GPS locations of the phones and computers they were using, set up some basic data surveillance. I thought about just sending a tip to the police, but I think I still wasn’t convinced that any of it was real. It was hard to accept that there could be people in the world taking kids, making them…” she hesitated, looked at Tara, and didn’t know how to continue. Tara laced her fingers tighter into Willow’s. “I went to find them on my own.” She dropped her head for a moment, overcome as the visual replayed in her mind. “I had to go back three times before the right opportunity presented itself, and it still would have all blown up in my face if it hadn’t been for Faith. She was ready. She had been planning to get out. In the end,” she took a shuddering breath, “it was only the four of us who walked away. We lost all of the others. They were gone without a trace.”

Tara didn’t have anything to respond with. She held Willow’s hand mutely, absently stroking her thumb along the woman’s index finger. She had been through too much of this kind of thing to think that any amount of soothing or comforting could make a difference. She knew better. Seeing the worst in people changed you on the inside, and she didn’t think there was a reset button for that kind of damage. “What you did still matters,” she managed. “It’s not always about saving everyone.”

Willow shrugged. “It doesn’t feel like that. Even now.” She stood up and walked back to the windows, pulled open the curtains to look outside, but the darkness was absolute. “Sarah and Helena stayed angry for a long time. They’re still angry. But they got focused. So did Faith. We figured out how to work together, be more powerful as a team. We each had a job to do. I found the marks, they did the physical end, I worked tech. It went well for a pretty long time.” She turned around and crossed her arms, leaned back against the wall in resignation. “Giles became a feature just by being around with Faith. He took me in, taught me some skills,” she waved at the room, “clearly developed some other things in me like farming. I spent a lot of time out here in the end. That built up some resentment. Helena and Sarah thought I was trying to take over the group, Faith thought I was helping Giles work on her, it all got messy. And then Faith insisted we go back and find the original trafficking ring.” Willow hugged herself tightly. “We fought hard. Things had changed, and the stakes were much higher. They’d gotten better since I first found them, and this time the only solid way out was to bring in the feds. But Faith insisted on being there in person to be a lifeline to the kids she knew were on the inside. She got busted in the raid, and she was charged as an accessory.”

“So she blames you.”

“No, she blames her father more than anything, but she hasn’t forgiven me.”

“What about the other two?”

“Sarah and Helena,” Willow sighed. “They didn’t give me all the details when it happened. I could have intervened, done something for Faith maybe… But I was too late. We all went our separate ways after that job. I bailed and erased myself.”

Tara closed her eyes and started to assemble the pieces of what she knew. “That’s why you worked on the farm all that time.”

“Well I do like farming,” Willow answered, “but it sure does make it easy to stay clear of computers. And when it was time to go, I knew there was a chance things could get riled up again. I just didn’t-” she looked up at Tara with such tenderness that the blonde felt her heart break a little. “I didn’t expect to find you. Or for you to be the reason I’d get dragged back into this.” Tara blinked, and Willow instantly regretted her choice of words. “Not dragged, I mean… I did it willingly.”

“What exactly did you do?” Tara finally asked. The question had been burning at the edges of her mind since Willow showed up in the bowling alley parking lot.

“You only got to see the blood money,” Sarah sneered, but she was laughing all the same. “Collecting was epic. It was a huge job,” she lit another cigarette, relishing the story telling. “Miranda had it all set up, and we knocked ‘em down one by one.”

“Wait, who’s Miranda?” Drew was awash in confusion. This was the third time a random name had popped into the conversation. Following details with Sarah was impossible.

“Fuck all,” she swore. “It’s a game. We’ve been playing it for years.” She shook her head at him. “And we usually use codenames over the radio anyway. For safety.” 

Drew nodded. “Miranda, like Sex and the City, Miranda?”

“I’m about to call you Doogie Fucking Howser, college boy.”

He raised his hands defensively. “Okay, fine. But back to the thing where you attacked people.”

“We didn’t attack anyone!” she shouted. 

“You got money out of them!” he shouted back. “Who the hell were they?”

Sarah tapped her cigarette on the edge of the window and calmly turned to look him in the eye. “You must be studying engineering,” she said with so much irritation he could feel himself starting to itch. “Seriously. We extorted the assholes on her client list. All thirty-eight of them. We tell them what information we have and where it will get released,” she motioned with her left hand, “they provide the cash we demand to keep things quiet,” she motioned with the right. “Nobody talks after the transaction is done, so it’s a win for everyone involved.” She shrugged and smiled. “It’s kinda beautiful.” She blew more smoke out the window. “I love my job.”

“So then you know,” Drew’s hands were sweaty. “You know what Tara was doing, and-”

“Hang on,” she put up a hand to stop him. “Is that what you’re worried about? One of us leaking that your bestie was screwing half the metro area?” Drew nearly launched himself out of his seat to attack her, but he stopped short when her gun was pressed against his ribs. “I’m not the one you’re really mad at, mate,” she said calmly. “Sit down.” He did as he was told. “I take my job very seriously. I’m a professional. I’ve been at this a long time.” She tucked the gun back behind her back and looked around for the cigarette she had dropped. “It’s bad business to talk about details. That’s not something I do, nor does Helena. You’re a soft, privileged little snot who hasn’t seen how ugly the real world is, but I can tell you, there are a lot more people than just your friend who need help or protection sometimes.” She ran her hand through her hair and looked up at the streetlights above them. 

“I’m not soft,” he whispered angrily. “I have a good skincare regimen.”

Sarah laughed out loud, a real gut laugh. She rolled her head sideways to face him. “Yeah, you do.” Drew tried to smile back at her, but he was feeling emotionally thin after everything they had been through. The night was stretching out further than he had ever thought possible. It was only eleven o’clock. “Willow’s not…” she struggled to find a word she could agree with, “she’s not awful. Tara could do a lot worse. I mean,” she went back to the cigarette, clearly thinking about her own tangled past with the redhead, “she’s done a lot of good for a lot of people.” She looked down at the steering wheel. “She saved me and my sister a long time ago.”

Drew wanted to ask, he wanted to pry and know everything. Here was a person who had shared a significant number of years with the woman who was stealing his best friend out of his life, and he felt compelled to know who she was and what she stood for. “How much of the metro area were you sleeping with?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he instantly hated himself. His blood ran cold with regret, and he glanced at Sarah to see if she was reaching for her gun again. She just smiled in a terribly sad sort of way. “Shit, I’m sorry. I should never have-”

“No, don’t apologize,” she waved him off. “My past is a lot less clean than Tara’s anyway. But it doesn’t determine who I am right now.” She looked squarely at him, “And her past doesn’t determine who she is anymore either.” Drew took a deep breath and relaxed a notch. “But I have a renewed respect for your skinny little ass. It takes one hell of a bitch to kick an asshole like me when they’re down.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “Ever think of putting those skills to use in the open market?”

The inside of Tara’s lungs felt like they were on fire from how much breathing she’d had to do to stay calm as Willow explained everything. She made it sound so… so normal. So much like any other operation she had worked in the past. It blew her mind that there could be so many people in the world needing rescuing, so many who were being taken advantage of by others in power over them. It made her feel less special, which, she reminded herself, was an incredibly stupid and selfish way to feel about any of it. Willow, on the other hand, looked like death was creeping up on her. The circles under her eyes were a deep purple, and Tara could occasionally see her eyes slip out of focus. She hadn’t slept at all in two days, and that made Tara feel guilty for her couch nap. And then she remembered what had happened before her nap, and guilt hit her even harder. She had thrown herself at Willow, cried, practically seduced her, gotten a moment of satisfaction, and then promptly fell asleep leaving the redhead hanging. That was so not cool. And it made her heart ache at how everything had unraveled. This wasn’t how their first time making love together was supposed to be. She had visualized every detail of it over and over again in her mind for months, obsessing about the intimacy, about being really emotionally present and available to her like she had never been before in her life, and then she fucking fell asleep on a goddamn couch. 

“You do a lot of internal battling with yourself, don’t you,” Willow mumbled. She had been watching the expression on Tara’s face range from anxiety to elation to frustration and beyond over the course of a few minutes of quiet space between them. Tara blushed bright red when she realized that Willow had seen so much in her face. “No,” Willow rushed to correct herself, “I’m sorry. I’m not trying be judgy, or interrupt your thoughts, or tell you what you already know. I just… I just wish you’d say some of it out loud.” She suddenly shrank where she was sitting. She had said so much, so much of her past was laid out between them now, and she was terrified that Tara would hate her for lying, for covering up the truth, for being something other than what she had fallen for.

“I… I think,” she started. She didn’t really know what to think. Her mind was a blur. “I think you’re exhausted. You’ve been awake for hours.” Willow looked away, and something in her eyes told Tara she was hurt. “No, hey,” she grabbed the arm nearest to her and tried to turn Willow back to face her. 

“You’re right,” Willow mumbled, “I am tired.” She half turned and then yawned, and cursed herself for it.

“Listen,” Tara tried to start again. “I…” the words failed her again. Exhaustion was setting in for both of them. “This is so much to wrap my head around.” Her brow creased with the effort. 

“It’s fine,” Willow started to edge away, knowing that Tara was trying to be gentle about her rejection. “Really, I get it.”

“No, you don’t,” Tara spoke more firmly. “How can you when I don’t even-”

Willow stood up, breaking their contact abruptly. “I broke the law. Repeatedly. Big laws.” She was close to shouting and realized her voice was getting too loud. “I did things that were unforgivable. I lied to you.” The pain was so clear in her face that it broke Tara’s heart to watch her. “I didn’t tell you who I was, or what I had done, or what could be coming after me, and then I got you caught up in this stupid mess.” Hot tears were streaming down her cheeks. She wiped them away roughly with her sleeve. “And now I can’t solve it.”

“I don’t want you to solve it!” Tara shouted back at her. She realized she was standing. Her fists were clenched. “I want you to need me.”

Neither of them knew how to breathe after Tara’s words were out in the room between them. They stood staring at one another, shaking, muscles clenched, waiting for something to happen or for something to change. Willow opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She tried again, this time remembering to breathe first. “I don’t… get to need anyone. Everyone always needs me.”

Tara consciously relaxed her hands and moved from one foot to the other. She shook off the feeling of terror vibrating through her spine. “You sound just like the voice inside my head. I’ve said that exact thing so many times.” They looked at each other for several long breaths, and Willow picked up on Tara’s calmer stance. She rolled her shoulders and blinked. “I’m not going to reject you because of your past, Willow. And it has nothing to do with the irony of my own past,” she looked up at the ceiling and back at Willow again, “although that would really be the most painful definition of irony.” Willow opened her mouth to speak, but Tara held up her hand too fast, “And don’t-” she started, “don’t bullshit me about not being worth my love or something stupid like that. I tried.” She put her hand down and shook her head in frustration. “I actively tried not to fall for you. I worked hard at it. I held you at arm’s length and I covered up as much of myself as I could to keep you less interested. I did everything I could to push you away, and I still,” she said the word through gritted teeth, “I still fell head over heels in love with you because of who you are.” Willow was afraid she had pissed Tara off so badly she would change her mind about being in love. “It does hurt that you walked away, but I get it now. I get that you… I don’t know,” she started to dissolve a little. Arguing wasn’t something she was very good at. 

“I’m sorry,” Willow whispered back. Tara sniffed as tears sprang up in her eyes. “I’m sorry I left.” She took a hesitant step closer. “I’m sorry I didn’t just trust you with the truth in the first place.” She inched another step forward and her hand lightly brushed against the back of Tara’s hand. “I regret…” she left the words to hang there.

“What do you regret?” Tara asked in a whisper of her own.

“That I…” Willow hesitated. She was so terrified that Tara would say no to her, that she would push her way in one way or another, that it took everything she had to continue. “That I never made the first move. Even when I knew you wanted me to.” She reached forward and placed her hand so gently onto the side of Tara’s neck, just below her jawline, that it almost tickled. She pulled Tara toward her and met her lips with her own. They kissed so softly that Willow could feel her body starting to drift into a dream-state where they stood.

Tara caught her elbow with a quick hand and balanced them both. “Jesus, Will, you’re gonna pass out. You have to sleep.” She stroked the hair away from Willow’s forehead tenderly. 

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Tara insisted, “but you will be once you get in that bed.” She guided the redhead to the edge of the bed and sat her down. “Strip,” she ordered. Willow woke up with the sudden heat of embarrassment. She wasn’t used to being ordered into nakedness, and Tara’s voice was so firm she couldn’t possibly object. She searched for something smart to reply with, but Tara had already found a spare shirt and threw it at her face. “We’re going to have to work on your listening skills,” she mocked. Willow grudgingly pulled off her socks and fiddled with the bottom edge of her shirt. Right next to her, Tara whipped off her pants and shirt so fast that Willow thought she might have a heart attack. She threw her bra into the pile of clothes in the corner and rummaged through the dresser for other clothes. She pulled out something small and turned with a sly smile, “You’re a boxer brief kind of girl?”

Willow smiled nervously. She tried desperately to keep her eyes on Tara’s face, but the curve of her exposed breasts were such a tempting sight she forced herself to stand up and turn around. “I just… uh… you know, I…” she stammered. Tara dropped her underwear into the pile and pulled on the boxers as she walked to the bathroom. Willow noticed that she had pulled on an old ACDC t-shirt of hers from her high school days. It was a good thing she had been into baggy clothes for a while at that point in her life, otherwise Tara might not have fit into it with any room to spare. Willow changed at lightning speed while Tara was out of the room. 

Then she looked at the bed and felt a new panic rising. She wanted nothing more than hours of intimacy and amazing, mind-blowing sex with this woman, but her body was aching to sleep. She stood next to the bedside table and deliberated internally how to explain any of this to Tara. She hadn’t heard the bare feet approach behind her, but she suddenly saw a hand reach around and pull the covers back. She turned to see Tara smiling at her. “Get in, silly.” Tara walked around to the other side of the bed and switched off the light. The room was utterly dark. Willow climbed into the bed and felt Tara’s warm body stretch out to find her. “Just stop thinking about it,” her voice warned. “We’re sleeping. Nothing else.” Willow sighed in relief and scooted toward the middle of the bed until her head was resting on Tara’s shoulder. She was asleep before Tara had even pulled the covers up around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A second chapter on the same day? Wow, I must be feeling bold. And today is important because I just completed this. I'll have the rest posted as soon as I'm done checking for minor spelling mistakes and such. Many thanks to those of you who have stuck this one out. It's been pretty fun to write, and the second story in this work is also very near completion. I'll connect them once I start posting it.


	22. Chapter 22

Willow woke just enough to feel a change in the light, like she hadn’t closed the curtains all the way before she collapsed into the bed in Tara’s arms. She smiled and pulled the covers around her shoulders at the thought of being so close to her, absorbed in the fluid warmth of Tara’s body tangled with her own. She slipped her arms around the bed looking for the other woman but only felt cool sheets. It had been the sound of water turning off that had woken her, she now realized. The scent of jasmine shampoo, of damp, warm air, of citrus soap and Tara’s skin reached her, and she opened her eyes.

“I’m sorry, I tried to be quiet. Go back to sleep.”

Willow stretched an arm out beyond the edge of the bed to touch the towel wrapped around Tara’s body. Was she real? Was any of this actually happening? Tara slipped into the bed, wet towel and wet hair dripping onto the dry sheets, carelessly tossing pillows aside until Willow’s arms were around her. They crashed together in a heated kiss, and Willow knew it was all real. Tara’s body rolled alongside hers, and they struggled to find their way free of the towel, out of the barrier of the clothes Willow had slept in, until they could pull themselves closer, into a crush of flesh and mouths and desire. There had always been a division before, a knowing of where one ended and the other began, of what was wanted and why they shouldn’t. Willow pushed those ideas aside roughly. Her hands swept up and down Tara’s thighs, still damp from the shower. Wet hair was in her eyes, and she could feel Tara’s mouth smiling against the exposed pattern of her ribs, lower to the sensitive skin of her belly, further until she couldn’t find enough air in the room to breathe properly. She clutched at covers and reached for the edge of the headboard as Tara pulled herself further in, her breath hot and cool in the same moment. They swam together in the motion of arching backs, of arms locked around hips to keep her body close to Tara’s mouth. Her legs wrapped Tara’s shoulders in so tightly that they rolled as one with the force of her need to feel the woman she loved in every inch of her body. Willow bucked and gasped for air and called out Tara’s name until her throat was raw and her face was covered in kisses and the gentle brush of eyelashes.

“What time is it?” she finally managed to speak in a coherent sentence. The effort involved was ridiculous.

“Time for a repeat?” Tara suggested with a coy smile. She rolled onto her other side and looked for the clock beside the bed. “Just after seven.”

Willow pressed herself against Tara’s back and wrapped her up in the tightest hug she could manage. “It’ll take almost three hours to make it back.” She sighed and trailed tender kisses along the line of the shoulder under her mouth. “There’s still so much to set up.” She was distracted from the work she needed to get done by the softness of Tara’s skin, and the problems in the back of her brain distracted her from the nearness of the woman in her arms. 

Tara took a deep breath and reached for Willow’s hand, cupping it in her own. “What are we? What am I now that… when we go back?” She didn’t want this moment to end or fade away. Something about this place was safe, magical in some way, and she couldn’t see past leaving.

Willow pushed herself up on an elbow and brushed the damp hair back from Tara’s neck, slowly lifting her chin to face her. “What do you want to be?”

“Yours.” She felt a panic rising in her chest, closer with each breath. It came from some part of her that wasn’t rational or logical, but it was terrified nonetheless. 

Willow let her fingers trace the edge of Tara’s hairline, from her forehead down along her temple, behind her ear, under her chin. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure I even exist without you.” She gently rubbed the side of her face along Tara’s, across her cheek, letting their lips glide over one another’s, not kissing, just feeling the touch of their skin together. The breath in her throat hitched as Tara looked into the green eyes so close to her own. The feeling of love in her lungs was explosive, dangerous. “Mine,” Willow whispered.

“Your girlfriend?” Tara teased, relaxing into the idea, letting the fear subside.

“Well ladyfriend sounds a little pretentious. I’ve always struggled with the notion of some things getting a girl label and some getting the word woman. Like superheroes,” she rambled on. “Superman, Spiderman, Batman. But the female versions are always girls. Supergirl, Batgirl.”

“Wonder Woman.”

“You find the one exception.”

“She was a total queen of bondage anyway, so still with the patriarchy bullshit,” Tara shrugged.

“Do not ruin my childhood crush on Lynda Carter,” Willow backed away in warning.

“No way. You, too?” Tara giggled and rolled them back over onto Willow’s side of the bed. 

“There were several,” Willow answered in full serious tone. “The Bionic Woman, Bonnie from Night Rider, Charlie’s Angels, too. 70’s reruns had all the hot ladies.”

“I’m Kris,” Tara smiled with the biggest, silliest smile Willow had ever seen on her. It filled her with a warmth that grew unexpectedly through her whole body. “Kris Munroe,” she turned slightly, waiting for the redhead to get the reference. Willow stared and pretended she couldn’t find anything to fire back with. She looked completely stumped. “Oh my god, you’re the biggest geek ever, and you don’t know Cheryl Ladd’s character from Charlie’s Angels? I channeled her as a child. Same hair, all the mannerisms, everything.”

Willow’s face cracked into a smile. “Who’s the geek now, Farah Fawcett Junior?!” Tara slapped her playfully on the shoulders for mocking her. “Tough girl, huh?” Willow lunged up at her, catching her in a fierce kiss. It stole Tara’s breath away. They slid back down to what pillows were left.

“You always came off as so shy and awkward,” Tara smiled into her lips, playing with her long red hair absently. “So suddenly I get naked and your assertive side comes out?”

“I’ll have you know,” she drifted her fingertips along Tara’s spine starting from the back of her neck, “I’m extremely shy.” 

“You look better now that you had some sleep, too. I know we have a lot ahead of us today.” The tingle of Willow’s fingers gliding across her skin sent electricity everywhere. “We should get started.”

“Now you’re in a rush?” She kissed Tara again, longer this time, drawing out her chance to taste and tease and explore. “I can’t afford to be distracted while I drive later,” she whispered. Her hands slipped over Tara’s hips and explored the curves of her belly, her breasts, the gentle nape of her neck.

“You could let me drive while you nap,” Tara closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip in ecstasy at the touch.

“Wait,” Willow’s hand froze. “You can actually drive?” her eyes were wide saucers staring down at the blonde.

“Bitch!” Tara gasped and shoved Willow away with a palm to her chest. They laughed and tumbled over one another landing in a frenzied exchange of hungry kisses.

Giles closed the door behind him and deposited an oversized cardboard box onto the table in the middle of the workroom. “Wow,” Willow wheeled over in her chair and stood up to inspect the contents of the box, “when you said you could get it quick, I sort of thought you were being facetious.”

“It didn’t come cheap,” he relaxed back against the table and folded his arms over himself. “And we don’t have another chance if these aren’t the right specifications. That connection is burned. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Willow put on her best tough face. “I have a very solid plan with…” she hesitated when he glared at her. “Assuming Sarah can get in, it should be…” Giles cleared his throat. “Okay fine!” she threw her arms out to the side dramatically. “I’m the computer geek who doesn’t usually go inside on operations, so I’m clueless. Just a clueless nerd.”

“Rebel nerd,” he tried to laugh at her.

Her cheeks colored. “I come up with one cool name when I’m like fourteen and you never let it go.” She rolled away, muttering, “… You’re English and you don’t even have respect for Bowie.”

“Willow,” he followed her, frowning in a protective way, “this is dangerous.” He sat down next to her in the empty chair. “And for the record, David Bowie’s name shouldn’t even be spoken by anyone from the generation that spawned the Spice Girls.”

“No argument,” she agreed. He leaned back in the chair, clearly hesitating to say what was on his mind. Willow had spent enough time with him over the years to see clearly when he was upset, when something was troubling him. She took the liberty of starting the conversation for him. “I followed up on your lead.” He looked at her with renewed interest. “Ophelia Murdock? Yeah, the org chart is genuine. And holy shit, the background on that woman.” She whistled long and low. “I mean, I’m sure you’re aware that the Pentagon wiped everything clean. Totally untraceable.” 

“I’m honestly shocked that they’ve never offered you a job,” he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“They’d have to find me first,” she teased. “But they do have a pretty good pension plan.”

“I take it this means you have a better idea of what you’re about to walk into?”

Willow pulled up a series of files on the computer and pointed to them. “I’m not sure this is as cut and dry as I thought it was yesterday. Just look at who she’s been hiring.” Giles leaned forward, put his glasses back on, and squinted at the screen. “This one, in particular,” she pointed to a name in the list, “I think that’s the one who’s been recreating my own steps. It’s like she’s trying to find me by learning to do what I did.”

“In another setting, we might have considered making her an offer,” he agreed.

“Well,” Willow shot back defensively, “she doesn’t have the makings of a builder. But,” she shrugged, “she’s a hell of a revisionist.” She pulled up another string of output she had been decrypting overnight. “I still can’t dig up any live case files. They have someone in cybersecurity who really knows their stuff. And I’m rusty at this end. It’s obviously possible that they’re pursuing vigilante warrants. That could at least explain how they pulled Faith in after only two years of her sentence.”

He closed his eyes. “You think she’ll turn all of us in.”

“You don’t?”

“I’m not stupid.” He warned her with a look. “And please don’t patronize me with any rubbish about how I’m holding out hope that she’ll turn things around and show up with open arms.”

“That’s not stupid,” Willow whispered.

“Yes, it is,” he stood up and paced toward the table. “She’s made it clear what her part in this is. We shouldn’t put it past her to drag each of us down if she’s able.”

“Well,” Willow looked aside, “what if I’m wrong?”

“Wrong, how?”

“What if Vector is actually doing something good?”

He sighed at her. “There’s nothing in the data to suggest that.”

“Of course not,” she reasoned, “there wouldn’t be. That’s kind of the whole point. We never left any trail for someone to look up, and they have way more power and money than a group of kids in a garage. They’ve got protection, but there’s no acknowledgement of their activities from any government entity.” She took a deep breath. “That’s how I would build it.”

“Murdock has more than one vendetta, but it would fit,” he looked up at the ceiling. 

“Will she remember you?”

He looked down at her with something akin to sorrow in his eyes. “It would be best if we avoid finding that out.” He blew a long breath through his nose. “I think you should leave Tara here. It would be the safest thing, especially if they intend-”

“You know I can’t,” she cut him off.

“Dammit, Willow,” he put a hand over his eyes, “I should not have to spell this out for you! She’s your blind spot. She’s the one weakness you have, and they’re ready to exploit that, to what end we don’t even know. You’re obviously thinking with your-”

“Do not even say that!” she overlapped his words, standing up forcefully. “Do not!” She was shaking, but her body felt full of energy, vibrating with power. “You can’t possibly understand-”

He pushed back against her with firm hand, “You’re in love with that woman, and she’s leading you straight into the hands of people who imprison you. They could kill you, Willow!” His anger was a radiating heat that had no boundary. “How dare you accuse me of not understanding.”

“Faith is in there, Giles,” she wiped the back of her sleeve across her eyes to clear the tears that had gathered. “She’s there, and I got her out once before and you didn’t see what that was like. You didn’t see it! And now she’s back, and I finally have the chance to fix this, this stupid thing that follows me everywhere I go. That I left her in there. We all did.” Her face felt hot from the words pouring out of her. “This is my chance.”

Giles took a step back, feeling like he’d been smacked, knowing that his pain wasn’t as solitary as he had wanted it to be. “She’s not…” he tried to explain.

“What if she is?” Willow fought back, more quietly this time. “Don’t you want to know?”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out, so he sat down again, useless, unable to argue. Willow could see the resignation in him. If only this victory felt better.

“I need Tara,” she told him. “I can’t do this alone.”

“You have Sarah. And Helena.”

“And you know they have other places to be in this operation. I need Tara to run things outside. She won’t be in harm’s way.” She tied her fingers together awkwardly. “And I just need her. I don’t think it’s… a bad thing to need someone.”

“If you…” his voice faded, unsure.

“I’ll tell her,” Willow softened, knowing he had never really given up on Faith. He couldn’t.


	23. Chapter 23

The air inside the enormous office building was cold, dry, void of anything friendly or inviting. It crept down the back of Willow’s neck and chilled her skin. Her shoes sounded impossibly loud on the marble floors. This was the emotional opposite of everything she had sought out in farming, in cultivating the soil, in growing food and blossom and beauty. This was all of the worst qualities of human advancement bundled up into a tidy, clean, orderly package of steel and tile and glass, and she hated it to the core of her body. She followed the suit in front of her, keeping her eyes low, but she desperately wanted to gawk at everything. Her curiosity was putting up a very hard fight. 

Her escort held the next door open for her after swiping his keycard. She walked in to the relief of darkness, desk lamps, lightly glowing monitors, and the smell of fresh coffee. Cans of Coke were on most desks. Some were covered in scattered collections of paper notes, books, magazines, while others were bare and clean, tidy right up to the bindings around monitor cables. Most of them were occupied. One more can wouldn’t bother anyone, so she reached into her pocket, pulled out the heavy Coke can, and nudged it onto the nearest desk while no one looked her way.

“Wait, are you…” a voice questioned from just behind Willow, “Are you rebel_nerd?” She turned to look at the guy talking and suddenly felt dazed and disoriented. “As in, like, The Rebel_Nerd?” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and stood up to face her. She opened her mouth to respond, but whispering voices all over the room broke out. Chairs rolled back from desks, heads popped up from work stations. Willow was forced to take in the entire room in a single sweep. Everyone was staring. Most of them were mumbling to someone standing or sitting next to them. A girl with heavy eye-liner in the far corner waved, then realized what she had done and sat down in embarrassment. 

“I, uh…” Willow groaned a little with the effort of speaking. She hoped her fingers weren’t too close the can she deposited.

“Always starting off with a good impression,” came the voice of her salvation from the doorway, but Willow still tensed at the familiar tone. Faith collected her elbow in one swift motion and carried her across the room, through the whispers and questions, straight into a glass walled conference room at the far edge of the building. There were windows overlooking the street below, but the glass tint and horizontal shades blocked out what little light tried to enter. She felt the door slam before the sound hit her. “Did they give you enough time to do your homework?” Faith spun one of the meeting chairs around and flopped into it.

“I know enough.” Willow sat down on the opposite side of the huge table. She hugged the edge of the chair with her thighs. 

Faith twirled the ends of her hair with one hand and pointed a thumb over her shoulder with the other, “The geek brigade out there is jerking off just knowing you’re in here.”

Willow squirmed uncomfortably. “Not sure I like that mental image. They think they know me?”

“You’re famous, Yoko.” Willow caught movement behind Faith and saw the girl from the corner of the room passing by the glass wall slowly, clearly moving to get a better view of them under the guise of refilling her coffee mug. “They don’t get out much,” Faith rolled her eyes at them.

“So what now?” Willow sat back and tried to look natural. 

“We wait for the director.” As if on cue, the door behind her opened, and a tall, lean woman in a black suit flowed into the room. Willow stared at her with her mouth open as she closed the door, crossed to the table, deposited a stack of folders in front of them, and sat authoritatively next to Faith. Her ebony skin was flawless, gorgeous, and Willow hoped against the odds that the air conditioning would kick back in. “This is Director Murdock,” Faith smiled. Willow hadn’t needed her to say anything. Her picture had been spot on, but her physical presence was more unsettling than she had bargained on.

The director smiled in a cordial way. “It’s nice to finally make your acquaintance,” she spoke in a terribly formal British accent. Her hair was trimmed just a breath above her elegant scalp which only emphasized the graceful curve of her neck and jawline. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Miss Rosenberg.” Willow blinked, but she couldn’t find any words that made sense in the moment. “I’m guessing you have some questions for me?” she arched her finely plucked eyebrow.

Willow tried to clear her throat. “I, uh… Yeah. Why me?”

The director turned slowly to look at Faith, who suddenly felt the need to sit up a little straighter in her chair. “You didn’t tell her?”

“Hey,” Faith smiled and put her hands up defensively, “you said to get her here. Well shazam. There she is.”

“And did you explain anything to her?” the director inquired, though her tone was accusatory more than inquisitive.

“I think the surveillance photo of my girlfriend was pretty clear,” Willow chimed in.

“Oh, so now she’s your girlfriend?” Faith fired back.

Director Murdock looked at Willow and then back at Faith in disbelief. “I asked you to be discreet and to give her time to consider the offer.” 

Faith shrank in her chair by just a millimeter, but Willow saw it, and it gave her the tiniest taste of confidence. “I’ve had the time I need, and I’m not interested.” They both looked at her. “I know you have some skeletons hiding, but I don’t care. I’m out, and I don’t want back into this business.” She took a deep breath, “Do you want to take the chance that I had enough time to build something your server team won’t find?” It was a bold bluff, and Willow’s hands were shaking under the edge of the table.

“I think there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding, Miss Rosenberg.” The director stood and motioned toward the door. “I won’t keep you, but perhaps you’d be willing to humor me for a small tour before you depart?” She nodded at the paperwork on the table. “I had hoped to go over the specifics of a few of our cases to gather your opinions, but that’s not essential if you’re questioning our larger mission statement.” She leveled a piercing glance in Faith’s direction. 

Willow stood and wiped her hands on the thighs of her pants. “What do you want to show me?”

“Step one complete,” Sarah talked into the earbud receiver. Her hands worked quickly on the electrical panel cover, replacing the screws and gathering her tools into the small bag on the floor. “Activate my cover.”

“Red button,” Helena whispered to Tara from her own ear piece.

“The-” she hesitated, “the big red button or the small red button next to the switchy thing?” The inside of the van was dark except for the light from the multiple monitors along the one wall. Tara let her fingers hover over the buttons, afraid she would break something by hitting the wrong one.

“Sexy blonde girl is useless.”

“Shut up, meathead. And jesus, Bond girl, it’s clearly the one beside the video monitor. Have you got a clean target, sis?”

Helena popped a bubble with her gum loudly into their ears and squinted through the long range rifle sight again. “Too many bodies. And very good window tint.”

“I’ll take that as a no,” Sarah hustled down the concrete walled hallway to the service door she had come through. “Is that video up yet?”

Tara pushed the small red button and prayed. The video screen flickered, went static, then came back up with a loop running. “It worked!” she jumped with excitement. 

“Great,” Sarah monotoned. “Move to zone two, sis. Legally Blonde, run scenario two and switch the data intercept like we showed you.” Tara nodded, worried again about doing a job she knew nothing about. “I’m heading upstairs.” Sarah looked up the long set of stairs ascending more than six-hundred feet above ground level. “Like I needed a fucking Stairmaster today,” she mumbled to herself.

Willow followed the director into a workroom with bright light, glass whiteboards, and a floor to ceiling collection of books. “We call this the library.”

She thumbed over the spines of the books, not recognizing any of them. “How many people work here?” Willow had already seen nine floors of offices, meeting spaces, labs, and virtual workrooms. 

“Upper management is thin,” the director responded. “We like to keep our focus on the work.” She looked directly into Willow’s face, unapologetic, unafraid of her work and what she stood for. “In other words, I keep legal off your back so that you can get your job done.”

“There’s a legal… thing?”

Director Murdock smiled without showing her teeth. “Show me a place that doesn’t have legal involved.” The smile faded. “We have a team in place that helps us keep things tidy around the edges. The nature of this work is… outside of some aspects of the law. Our contracts allow us to do they work that regular sectors can’t, but our independence allows for some… leeway.”

“I’m starting to notice,” Willow muttered. She walked over to the end of the room and noticed a door to a wide balcony. She pushed it and walked outside into the cool night air. She had seen so much that she had not expected, and it wasn’t settling well in her stomach. Faith had set her up for anger, for resentment, and there was none of that in this place. She felt the other woman standing beside her, their hands both on the railing. “I had no idea you had so much… that your work was…” she struggled to find the right way to characterize everything around her. “This is all so cool.”

The director laughed briefly, never losing her elegant composure. “I’m sorry Faith misrepresented things so poorly. I had hoped that you being former acquaintances might-” her thoughts were cut off by a slight noise behind them. They turned to see the same girl with coffee and cream skin from the original workroom Willow had entered more than an hour before. “Petra?”

The girl smiled in a shy way, her mannerisms all apology, but there was a hint of something brave in how she stood alone, facing the two women. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she squeaked. The director raised her eyebrows in question to the intrusion. “You have a call in 4C. It’s important.” Willow watched Director Murdock walk away with a sense of urgency, leaving the two alone on the balcony. The girl hovered near the doorway, her fingers outlining the edges of the handle. Willow turned to look at her. She was young, that much couldn’t be mistaken, but it was hard to tell by just how much. Long brown hair, messier than she probably realized, with a bit of a wave to it where it snuck out of her long braids. Her hazel eyes were staring right back at Willow through a screen of something akin to goth makeup. She was thin and almost looked frail. “You don’t know who I am.”

Willow shook her head slowly. Should she know her? There wasn’t anything familiar about her, but it was obvious that Willow meant something to her. “You work here? Programmer?” she guessed. She looked young enough to be in high school.

“Correction analytics,” Petra blurted out.

“Sorry,” Willow frowned, suddenly feeling like she had called an engineer a janitor. “That’s cool, though. I’m more of a paint by number geek,” she felt herself blushing, feeling like she should have to defend who she was when that wasn’t her life anymore.

“Oh, I know!” the girl jumped. “We all do.” Her hands covered her throat and chest, as though she could barely contain her fright at the conversation she was engaged in. She rubbed her chin absently on the back of her hand. “We didn’t really think you’d come.”

“You think I’m someone-” Willow cut herself off. “I’m not-”

“You saved me.”

Helena opened the back of the van and promptly scared the utter crap out of Tara who was still trying to figure out the computer system and all of the monitors on the wall. “Jumpy, jumpy,” said the Ukrainian with the long range rifle case at her side. Tara laughed nervously. “Do I look like I’m trying to be funny?” 

Tara instantly stopped and wrapped her arms around herself. “I thought you were going in there a different way.” She edged out of the way each time Helena moved around the van’s interior, terrified to be too close to her. There was an instability about the other woman that raged like a wild animal in the erratic nature of her movement. Her red-rimmed eyes stared at Tara, and she made a low growl in her throat and lunged out with a bite in response.

“I’ve got eyes on sixteen,” Sarah interrupted them both on the radio. 

Helena unlocked the wall cabinet opposite the computers and exchanged the rifle case for a pair of smaller handguns. One was stashed at the back of her pants, the other was dropped into an inner coat pocket. She reached into a different pocket and pulled out some random pretzels, shoving them in her mouth. She stared defiantly at Tara. “Many pockets for snacks.” She fished around and found a broken Oreo, first offering it to the other woman, then quickly stuffing it in her face. “These I like,” she mumbled as crumbs fell out of her mouth to the floor of the van. “You should run EM burst,” she pointed at the computer screen behind Tara, who quickly spun and tried to see what she was pointing at.

Sarah’s voice crackled on the radio again. “I’m ready for the targeted deployment on fourteen and up.”

Helena spat impatiently into her mike, “Penelope Garcia needs to take a class at ITT Tech.” She shoved Tara rudely over to the right, pushing her head down to look at the sticky notes above the glowing keyboard. “First type this,” she pointed, “then type this,” she pointed again, “then switch signal on this,” she forcibly swung Tara’s head around to the left and pointed to a box of switches and buttons at the far end of the desk. “Three switches. Make sense?” Tara nodded, unable to speak. Helena checked the ammunition in one of her guns and dropped it back into her coat. “I go play Bruce Willis. He is my favorite.”

Tara breathed a sigh of relief as the van door swung shut behind the messy-haired blonde. “Fucking psycho,” she whispered. She looked at the scribbled notes and started to type. Her eyes jerked up to the monitor after every other keystroke, nervous that typing the wrong thing would break something else. The first group of characters didn’t seem to do much, so she typed in the second set. Still nothing, and her breathing came a little easier. She reached to her left and flipped the first switch with red ribbon tied to it, and suddenly half of the building across the street went dark. “Whoa,” she breathed. “That was… kinda cool.”

“I’d been in the system for almost a year before they came and found me. I wasn’t the only one. They would move us around from place to place at night so that we didn’t really ever know where we were, but we got to know each other.” Petra looked sideways at the woman beside her. There was shame in her eyes, but something about her was also bold and outspoken. She wasn’t afraid of her past. There was such an air of innocence and sweetness about her that even the heaviness of her intense purple eye shadow couldn’t hide it. “And then one night it all changed. Lots of noise, we heard guns and shouting, bright lights, and then these guys in masks came in and grabbed us.” She shuddered slightly. “I was hugging Maddie. She was this little girl I was friends with?” The look on her face was indecipherable, but Willow refused to look away. “We thought that was it, they were going to kill us.” She hugged her knees to her chest and rested her cheek against a kneecap. “Some of its blurry, but we ended up in this really bright building by the time the sun was coming up. There were nice people there. They gave us juice boxes and cookies and stuff, and they kept telling us we were safe. Faith was there the whole time.”

Willow breathed loudly, taking it all in. This had started out feeling like geek bonding, which was hard enough for her to understand, but now it had changed. The work she had done so many years ago might have been a stain in her past that she struggled to look at squarely, but Petra was a byproduct of that last successful operation. Nineteen kids had been found in the trafficking ring and brought to safety. For Willow it had never been so real. “I never knew any of the specifics.” The concrete patio underneath her was cold, but most of her body felt numb. She barely felt the steel railing biting into her back where they sat in the cold December air.

“Phe… Director Murdock is sort of terrifying sometimes,” she laughed lightly. “But she knows how good you are. We need you here.”

Willow nodded slowly, beginning to realize just what she had walked into. She suddenly remembered the timing of everything happening outside of the building and checked her watch. Before she could even swear out loud, the lights went out. 

Everything went dark, and the phone in the director’s hand went dead. She looked through the window from the conference room and signaled to Faith, who had been lurking outside. “What’s our status?”

She checked her phone and ran a hand through her long, brown hair. “They’re offline upstairs. Boston can’t nudge the servers from up there. Hayes is heading down.” She could feel Murdock glaring at her with such intensity that she wished she had a reason to leave the room.

Murdock cursed under her breath. “Would it really have been so difficult for you to have simply done what I asked?” She fumed for a moment while she collected her thoughts. “There is going to be a reckoning for this, Faith.”

“She hasn’t had enough time to set up anything big. This is just a bluff Rosenberg set up.”

“She shouldn’t have needed to do this,” the director rounded on her and shoved an accusing finger up to her face. “I was very clear with you about how to proceed.”

“You don’t know her,” Faith fired back, pushing the finger out of her way and straightening her jacket over her shoulders. “She’s not the kind of person you can trust, and you think you can just win her over to be your bitch. Well that’s a big mistake. She won’t be owned by anybody without some kind of leverage, and I’ve got her on my hook. So maybe you should be thanking me right now.”

The distant hum of the HVAC system and whirring computers died to nothing. They could hear each other breathing. They both knew that the backup systems had just been taken out. “Am I still supposed to thank you?” the director slammed into Faith’s shoulder as she made for the door. “Get down to system ops and find out where their people are.” Faith pulled the gun from its resting place at her back, but Murdock turned around and lowered it with a firm hand. She stared authoritatively into Faith’s vision, inches away from her face in the shadowed meeting room. “Absolutely not. We’re handling this diplomatically.”

Tara picked up the cell phone ringing from the passenger seat of the van. She had been watching the video monitors, but everything was dark, so she was blind to the happenings inside the building where Willow was being held. “They’re in motion inside,” Giles assured her. “Be ready to fire up that van once you see them. There’s nothing else for you to do, so stay in the van with the keys in the ignition. Start your twelve minute countdown.”

Tara had leaned over to look skyward and saw light and movement in the midst of the darkened office building. “Wait, what’s up with the power coming back on in that one section?”

“What?”

“Lights. I can see them.” Tara ducked back to the computers behind her and saw one of the security cameras flicker to life. “They have power up there.”

“That’s not possible. The power will stay out for at least fifteen minutes before they can recycle their backup systems.”

“Their cover is blown.” Tara felt a panic rising in her chest. Her hands went cold. “I have to-” she forced her anxiety down, visualizing calmness to steady herself. “I’m going in.”

“You cannot go inside that building!” Giles shouted into the cell phone. “You have no idea what’s happening in there. Tara, please listen-” but she had already ended the call on the phone. 

Willow jumped to her feet, grabbed Petra’s free hand, and launched them into a run through the building. She had no idea where she was going, and she struggled to decide left or right when she found the first hallway. Petra took over and tugged her left and up two flights of stairs. They burst through into the workroom where Willow had started this escapade. Six other people were huddled behind the dark monitors at the center of the room, arguing furiously. “Drama will get it if you just give her a fucking chance!”

“-not like anyone has a better plan.”

“We really ought to just bail!”

The sound of the door banging closed behind Willow and Petra shut them up. “What’s the plan?” Willow’s new friend asked meekly. She rushed to join the group, glancing back to indicate that Willow should follow along. 

“Drama’s slipping down to maintenance to reconnect the bypass generator,” answered a lanky man with short-cropped blonde hair. He was so skinny it made Willow hungry just to look at him. 

“I knew something was about to go down,” an Asian girl who looked like she should be in high school, too, threw herself into the explanation. She pointed an accusing finger at Willow, “Trojan horse over there dropped a breadcrumb when she walked in.” She held up the suspect soda can.

“Hey!” Willow objected with both hands up, “kind of the sticky keys exploitee here.” Three geeks snorted out laughs at her joke without any warning. “And there was no breadcrumb. It’s a three part EM burst, so your backup systems won’t work either.” Willow walked aggressively up to the other girl, stopped short by Petra’s hand on her forearm. She calmed herself and glanced at the Petra, acknowledging that this wasn’t turning out the way she had planned. 

“External timed command prompt set to blow a hole in our security once you’re alone with the director?” the Asian girl pushed forward again. “Bold move, nerd. But you didn’t bank on Drama.”

“What the hell is the deal with all this drama?” Willow asked Petra. “And I take that nerd comment kind of personally,” she frowned at the other girl. “The name used to be Rebel Nerd. Way more intentional.”

“Claude,” Petra nodded to the angry girl, introducing her to Willow. “Don’t call her Claudia or she’ll give you an Instagram account you’ll never recover from.” The girl smirked in a nasty way. “Andromeda goes by Drama. She’s…” Petra hesitated, “she’s complicated. You’ll see.” Petra looked around at the others. “Boston,” she pointed to the tall guy with blonde hair, “Mac and Cheese,” a dark-skinned guy at the edge waved, “Pan,” a quiet girl at the other side of the group nodded, keeping herself apart and aloof, “Scotty,” she pointed at the smiling young man sitting in the center.

“Hey,” he stuck his hand out and shook Willow’s before she could object. “Big fan.” He was the first one who had spotted her when she arrived more than an hour earlier. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose again. “Sticky keys,” he laughed. “You’re funny.”

“So if you’re here,” Claude fired off again, “who’s busting through our firewall right now?”

“That’s like totally figurative, right?” Mac asked.

Willow scanned the room, looking for all of the entry points. A side door she hadn’t spotted in the dark flew open, and Helena charged in with both guns pointed at the crowd. “Not so much,” Willow mumbled.

“Does cocktail party have snacks, little friend?” Helena smiled at her, pointing the gun in her right hand at Willow’s head. “Yippee ki yay, motherfucker.”


	24. Chapter 24

Sarah peeked around the corner in the darkness, saw the corridor was clear, and moved past the next set of office doors. Half of the hard surfaces in this building were glass which made it much easier in the darkness to see through to the other side, but she had lost track of Willow’s whereabouts after checking her last known location on the balcony. Most of the people from the floor she was on had already taken the exits to leave the building. One approached at a T junction, and Sarah turned sideways to look inconspicuous. The other body brushed against her harder than it should have as they passed, and she felt every part of her body tense. 

“Not too many data geeks who wear leather on this level,” a voice spoke from behind her. Sarah turned and looked into the deep brown eyes of someone so familiar she nearly choked. “I thought you might be nearby,” Faith smiled. 

“Holy shit,” Sarah muttered. “Are we cool, or is this about to turn into a Taylor Swift music video?”

“We were never cool, Sarah,” Faith smiled cruelly. “Did you really think you could just walk in and rescue her?” The two women circled one another, each considering the firearms at their backs, knowing the wrong move would create a cascading series of events that would only end in bloodshed.

“Will’s out of your league, Faith. This was never about getting her out,” Sarah warned. “You just let her in, and you pissed her off.”

Faith gritted her teeth. Her eyebrows crushed the last ounce of nice in her expression. “Girl, don’t threaten me in my own house. I built these walls. You really think I don’t have rat traps for the vermin?” Lights flickered on around them in two of the offices, and the could suddenly see a gathering of people in the main operations workroom. “Nice timing, Hayes,” Faith muttered under her breath.

Sarah blinked at the sudden light, taken aback at how quickly their plan had been thwarted. “You don’t have to stay,” she reasoned. “You can come with us.” Her expression softened, looking for a way to plead with the old friend opposite her, even if there wasn’t much of that friend left.

“That sounds familiar.”

“Nobody wanted it to happen the way it did,” Sarah cracked slightly. Losing Faith had been hard on all of them. It wasn’t just a failure of the job, it was a loss of part of their family, one of their own.

“You weren’t on the inside,” Faith spat. Her face was full of anger, but Sarah knew the hurt that was underneath. It was a sensation that would never leave either of them alone. “I stayed with them. I stayed!” she shouted. “They were little kids, dammit. Way younger than we were.”

“We busted them, Faith. Everybody got out. You could have avoided all of this.”

“Avoided?” Faith rushed forward into her face. “Saving those kids only to abandon them to the system isn’t saving anyone. I stayed with them so they wouldn’t be afraid.” She pointed to the workroom, “I followed through. I saw the job all the way to the end.” She took a deep breath and backed away half a step. “I’d do it all over again. Would you?”

“I don’t know,” Sarah answered honestly. “We lost you, Will bailed,” she shrugged, “everything fell apart. Helena and I stuck together and kept working, but it hasn’t been the same.” She ran her fingers through her hair and cursed loudly. “So what now, boss?” she joked. “You gonna haul me off to security?”

Faith pulled out her gun and pointed it lazily at Sarah’s feet, directing her to start walking. “I am security.” They walked to the workroom three doors down the hallway. Faith pushed the door open. 

“Gun down,” came a voice with a very thick accent from behind the blind spot of the door. Faith could feel the muzzle against the base of her skull, and she knew she had lost this round. 

“Nice to see you again, Helena,” she sneered as she lifted the gun in a loose grip. It was taken out of her hand, and she moved over to the group of geeks surrounding Willow.

Sarah took up a position next to her sister and helped to keep an eye on the loose cannon that was their old colleague. “Glad you made it to the party, meathead,” she smiled.

Helena pointed to a desk nearby, “They have gummy bears.”

“I knew you’d do something like this,” Faith growled at Willow. 

“You were hoping,” Willow growled back without taking her eyes off the computer. “But I’m changing the script. You didn’t tell me the whole story.” 

Petra sat next to her, wrapped up in everything she was seeing. There were parts of the organization that she hadn’t even known how to access, and Willow had opened them and made changes within seconds of sitting at the computer desk. “Why didn’t you just tell her the truth?” the girl asked, looking up into Faith’s dark brown eyes. 

“Because she knows I wouldn’t have trusted her anyway,” Willow answered. She glanced at Faith and rolled her eyes. Another command prompt came up, and Willow typed in more revised source code. “Sometimes you need to see the truth for yourself anyway.” She made one more entry and then sat back. “Blonde Lincoln?” she snapped her fingers at the young man across from her. 

“Boston,” he reminded her. 

“Whatever. Sure. Run that file I put on your server desktop.” She turned to Petra in her best sly voice and said, “I swear he looks like Abe Lincoln with blonde hair. Am I the only one who sees that?” Petra snickered.

“Most of us aren’t old enough to have seen Lincoln in person like you have,” snarked Claude.

“Getting tired of this,” Willow stood up and stared at the girl who clearly hated her.

“Don’t break a hip,” Claude turned in her chair and focused on her own work. “This is going to take forever. You blew out like eighty percent of our systems.”

“Eighty-two, but I know it’s hard to count that high with new math,” Willow snapped back. 

Tara snuck through the building with her back to the wall like a spy in a movie. She felt ridiculous. She felt terrified. What the hell was she doing going into this place knowing that Helena was in here with firearms and no sense of self control? She took a deep breath and focused on her goal; Find Willow, get out. She looked around and saw that the lights were still out on this level. No elevator, so she would have to take the stairs higher. She moved quickly to the metal door and pushed through. It collided with something on the other side, and she heard a grunt. “Sorry!” she shouted without thinking. 

The other body folded in on itself and turned away. “This is just not my week,” he grunted.

“Drew!?” she recognized the voice and rushed forward to grab at him, pulling him more upright.

“Tare? Holy shit!” He slammed into her and grabbed her in such a tight hug that her lungs wouldn’t expand enough for her to breathe. She just coughed into his shoulder and prayed he wouldn’t let her go. “Where did you come from?”

“I was,” she tried, but he still hadn’t let go. She pushed gently to give them both enough room to breathe. “We came back. It’s hard to explain.” Her brow creased. “How did you know I’d be here?”

“I didn’t. I took a chance.” He looked her over like she’d been gone for a month. “They told me to go home, but I couldn’t sit still. I was here when they set up surveillance last night.” He brushed back her hair and kissed her forehead. “I was so scared. I worried about you constantly.” He hugged her again. “And then I saw the lights go out up above, and I knew something was happening.”

“That was me,” Tara said with a gleam in her eye. “I did that.” She was smiling.

“You turned off the power?” he raised one eyebrow suspiciously.

“I deployed a staggered tier EM pulse… thingie,” she rattled off, obviously proud of herself. “It was awesome,” she whispered. “But we don’t have time.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him along as they started to climb. The stairs were illuminated by flashing low-level lights due to the power failures on those levels. “Something went wrong in there, and Sarah and Helena are both inside.”

“And you want to get closer to Lisbeth Salander and Domino Harvey, why exactly?” he asked with sincerity. 

She stopped and turned, a full two steps higher than he was, so that she was eye to eye with him. “Because Willow is up there, and it’s up to me to rescue her this time. I love her, Drew.”

Willow stood to face Director Murdock as she marched into the workroom. “I’d like an explanation, please,” she commanded. Eyes all over the room fell to the floor as no one wanted to be targeted to respond. 

“I can start, if you’d like,” Sarah waved from the corner, still holding the 9mm gun in her right hand. Director Murdock was instantly quiet and gave her the attention she required. “You threatened my business partner,” she motioned to Willow, “so we stepped in to bite back a little. We were hoping you would reconsider your business proposition.”

Murdock looked at Faith and flared her nostrils angrily. Faith refused to look directly at her. This had dissolved into a utter shitshow, and she knew it fell squarely onto her shoulders. 

“Sarah,” Willow cautioned, “there are some things here that I didn’t know about. We’re changing the job.”

“Yeah well,” Claude looked up at Director Murdock from where she sat at her desk, “your job still kicked the shit out of us, so mission accomplished.”

“Look, I’m sorry,” Willow started, but Sarah cut her off.

“No, we don’t change the job when we’re inside. You know this, Claire Danes.” She walked over to the Director and the programmers nearest her, “And they have a card with your name on it that they’ve put on the table. You gonna walk away with that still in play?”

The door behind them burst open, and Sarah and Helena were forced to spin again and take in three new people entering the room. 

A woman with chin length blonde hair marched in with two other people in her grip. There was clearly substantial strength in her as she wrestled Tara and Drew alongside her roughly. They didn’t look like they wanted to argue with her further.

“Chips are on the table now,” Faith smiled from her corner.

“Tara-” Willow turned, and she choked. Tara was supposed to stay out of all of this. 

“Can we please have some calm in here,” demanded Director Murdock. She held out her hands to Sarah and Helena to relax their aim. They looked at Willow for direction, and she nodded. “Thank you,” she said softly to Willow. “I think, perhaps, we should discuss what’s occurred.”

“That’s my fault,” Willow offered immediately. “I was spooked. You had surveillance on my girlfriend,” she looked at Tara when she used the word and hoped she wasn’t stretching things too far too soon. Tara smiled back in a slightly coy way, encouraging her. “I couldn’t risk her getting hurt, so I agreed to come meet you. Faith didn’t tell me,” she glared at her estranged friend, “well she left out all the details. You,” she looked at the Director, “and Petra filled in what was missing. A lot of it, anyway. And it was enough to change my mind. I thought I needed to cripple all of your systems and make you wish you’d never started in this business,” she shrugged and sighed, “but I think maybe you’re doing something good here. But the op was already in motion. I couldn’t stop it.”

“I actually think Faith bears more of the blame for inspiring this event,” responded the Director in a terse tone. “But I appreciate that you’ve had a change of heart. That certainly explains why all of our systems are facing critical failures. But these two?” she motioned to Helena and Sarah.

“They’re my… my friends,” Willow said simply. Something in her confession caught the two off guard, and they both smiled. She looked at each of them and smiled back. “What Vector is doing here is what we did, only better. They have funding and resources and smart people.” She looked around at the group of computer nerds with admiration. “They’re breaking up trafficking rings and taking down criminals who hurt people. But they’re doing what they can legally, sometimes within the system, sometimes outside of it. They don’t let protocol stop them. They work around it.”

“We believe in the same things you always did,” Petra spoke up. 

“So then,” Drew finally felt like it was safe to speak, “you’re not going to hurt Tara? You wanted Willow, she’s here,” he looked pleadingly at Tara, “you’ll leave my friend alone?”

“It’s true, I wanted Miss Rosenburg,” Director Murdock answered him, “but I hoped she would be interested in the work we do. I fight against coercion and corruption, Mister…?” she raised her eyebrows waiting for his name.

“Drew. Drew Malone.”

“Mister Malone,” she smiled professionally, “your friend has nothing to fear from us.”

He turned to Tara, feeling giddy, and said in a tiny whisper, “I really like how that woman says my name.”

“Wait,” Tara took a step forward, noticing that the blonde beside her had let go minutes before without any big movements. “This was all just some kind of… misunderstanding?” She held out a hand to Willow, who crossed the room without hesitation. “It’s just… just like that, it’s all fine?” Willow took her hand. She pressed their foreheads together, and they each took a deep breath. 

“I’m not sure what to do now,” Helena raised her hand. 

“Put the gun away, meathead,” her sister patted her on the shoulder. “Red made nice with the scary lady in charge. We can go home now. Job’s done.” She packed her own gun away and looked sideways at Faith. “And now we know where our missing sister is, in case we want to have her over for dinner.” 

Faith held her gaze for a minute and then snorted. “I was never your sister.”

“Sestra from the dark place,” Helena shook her head and reached a hand out to Faith. “We don’t forget.” Her hand hung there in the space for a long time.

Faith struggled with indecision. Her body twitched from the effort of holding still. She tried to shrug it off and smile, but Helena could see something in her that she couldn’t bear to have watched, so she turned and walked toward the other side of the room.

“Faith,” Director Murdock motioned to her, “take Drama and see to it that we get the backup systems restored.” She nodded to the woman near Drew, who silently came over. “I won’t have us more vulnerable while we correct all of this. And please dispatch security teams to our field agents. I will not have this interfere with any operations.” They left without a backwards glance. Murdock then zeroed in on the two women in the corner. “Sarah and Helena,” she asked without making it a question. “I certainly didn’t expect you to join us this evening, but my door is open if you’d like to discuss options with me.”

“We’ve got your card,” Sarah answered through a forced smile. 

Scotty looked them both up and down with wide eyes. “You two are terrifying.”

“He is very nice,” Helena patted his head. 

“What now?” Tara whispered into Willow’s embrace. Drew stood beside them both with his arms protectively around them. 

“We leave, I think,” Willow looked around. The program she’d given Boston was slowly restoring some of the more critical systems, and several of the others were working on things she’s assigned to them to make their progress move faster. 

“Wait,” Petra was suddenly standing beside them. She looked shyly at Tara and Drew, perhaps feeling like she was intruding. “You want to go? After everything?”

“It’s a fair question,” Director Murdock sat on the edge of a desk nearby. 

Willow took Tara’s hand in her own and smiled back at them. “I think I’ve caused enough trouble for one night.”

“True,” Murdock replied, “but you’ll only motivate Drama that much more to invent a system without those vulnerabilities.” She looked around at the others who were already fixing things, working independently, collaborating. “This team is resourceful and innovative. We’re resilient.” She turned her gaze back to Willow. “But you have something we lack, which is why I reached out to you in the first place.”

“I,” Willow started, clearly trying to find a polite way to turn the director down after trashing her entire operation, but she felt Tara pulling her back in. She turned to face the blonde. Her eyes were closed, her eyebrows drawn down.

“They need you.” Tara opened her eyes and looked at Willow in a way that she never had before. It was some mixture of fear and reverence, of understanding that her needs were important, but there was also something bigger out there competing for what she wanted. “They don’t just need someone smart, they need you, Will.” She ran her thumb over Willow’s bottom lip, cherishing their nearness. “They need that thing about you that makes you so special. That part of you that cares.”

“I won’t put us in danger,” Willow insisted. “I’ve done this. It’s not the life I want. Not for us.” She took Tara’s head into both of her hands, kissing her gently. “I just found you and started getting this right. I can’t risk that.”

Director Murdock cleared her throat behind them. “It’s only risky if you operate alone, Miss Rosenburg. This isn’t the operation you ran out of your parents’ garage.” Willow turned at that reference, struck by how much the Director must really know about her history. 

“I think you should stay,” Tara spoke again. She was trembling. “I think this is what you were meant to do.”

Petra turned away from the group quickly, knowing that tears would mess up her makeup. Her braids whipped around and caught Willow’s attention. Tara was right. Petra might not be here had it not been for the work she had done, or the work Faith had done when the rest of them chickened out. How much more could she do with someone like Murdock providing the people and equipment she would need? “I work on my own terms, remotely when I need to.”

“I have no objection,” the Director answered with her cool voice. Her blood pressure never seemed to change. “Although you might find it instructive to spend some time here in the office. Things have changed since you were last in a coordinated operation, and Vector has some very specific business protocols we would need you to learn.” Willow nodded absently, as though she was accepting some sort of punishment. “I’m offering you the opportunity to lead the entire data team.”

All of the techs in the room stopped typing or clicking and turned to look at Willow. She could swear she saw a betting pool chart pop up on Scotty’s screen. “I don’t know that I’m ready for that,” Willow whispered as she watched all of them watching her.

“Bullshit,” Claude looked at her with distaste. “We have plenty to learn from you. Don’t be an asshole. Just say yes.”

“Okay,” Willow answered, more to Tara than to anyone else in the room. “I guess I’m employed?”


	25. Chapter 25

Sarah threw two chips onto the table and looked to her right. She palmed her cards and folded her arms across her chest, rested back into the uncomfortable chair, and took a deep breath. Drew looked at her with narrowed eyes. He looked at the cards in his own hand secretively, as though he knew she was trying to cheat somehow. He pulled out two chips and threw them in with hers. “You’re up to something,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Sestra is innocent,” Helena tossed her chips in with the others. “You’re always suspicious,” she smiled at Drew. 

“He has good reason,” Petra put her cards down on the scratched surface of the metal table. “I’m out.” Her eye shadow was green tonight, possibly with glitter. 

“What?” Tara looked nervous now, and she leaned closer to Petra on her left. “How can you be out already? Am I supposed to stay in?” She showed her cards to the girl and whispered something behind them that the others couldn’t see.

“Oy, who’s conspiring now, eh?” Sarah leaned forward. “In or out, Claire Underwood.”

Petra shook her head sadly and tossed her braids back over her shoulders. “Cut your losses, Tare. It’s not worth it.” Tara sighed loudly through flared nostrils and put her cards down on the table.

Willow tossed her chips down and smiled. “I’m ready for some winning feelings,” she grinned. “Drama?” she turned slightly to the right. The blonde beside her eyed everyone at the table who was still in on the game. She shook her head and put her cards down. Her hair had grown out since Willow had started working with her, and it fell into her eyes again.   
Pan tried to put on her best mean face, but Drama, sitting next to her, grabbed her cards in one hand and threw the onto the table for her. “Oh, so now you’re involved?” Pan glared back. “I had my poker face on!”

“Looks like it’s just good versus evil again, Scotty,” Willow called to the one remaining player sitting beside Drama. 

Scotty glanced nervously at Sarah on his other side. He looked at his cards. “I don’t know, Will.” He wiped his free hand on his thigh to dry his palm. “It hasn’t been a good night for my luck.” He looked to Petra for an indication of whether he should stay in the game.

She shrugged back. “Tara’s my card buddy. You’re on your own, dude.” Tara smiled and bumped shoulders with her. 

“Fine,” he resigned. “All in,” and he put his chips on the table. They all flipped over the cards and a wash of curses filled the air. Scotty dropped his head into his hands for the fourth time that night. “How do we always fall for this?”

“I’d just like to say thank you,” Drew grinned broadly as he reached out and swept the pile of chips onto his side of the table. 

Sarah slammed her hand on the table in anger and made everyone jump. “Fuck you, Malone,” she shouted, pointing a finger in his face. She glared at him while everyone else watched. Slowly, very slowly, her face twitched. Drew’s did the same thing. In a moment they were both laughing. Sarah playfully punched him in the shoulder. “Asshole,” she called him affectionately. “You order pizza next week.”

Things were settled now. The group of friends were gradually figuring out how to lean on one another. They hadn’t expected to work so well together, to have fun outside of work either, but no one wanted to call it, so they agreed to keep things going. Petra spent a lot of time clinging to Tara, and they had fallen into something like a sister relationship. Neither of them had any family to call their own, and they had done most of the groundwork of pulling the others in. They started with popcorn and movies at Tara’s house. Petra and Scotty would sit on the floor and recite quotes as the movies played out in the background to their chattering conversations. Scotty brought Drama with him one evening when Willow was over, and they splintered off to play epic rounds of board games in the kitchen. She still wasn’t talking to anyone, but they had all come to accept that it was part of her nature, part of what made her who she was, and it failed to be a barrier to their friendship.

Willow nudged her now, sympathetic that they had both lost every single game of poker that night. Drew was raking it in with Sarah a close second behind him. “You good?” Willow asked. Drama nodded once. The corner of her mouth smiled for an instant, then went back to its passive line. “I’m designated tonight,” Willow pointed to the cooler of beers next to the abandoned pizza boxes, “if you want another beer.” 

Drama lowered her eyes thoughtfully, then looked at the side door with a slight tilt to her head. She signed to Willow, ‘Fresh air would be good.’

“It’s cold out there. Don’t stay out took long,” Willow smiled back.

She moved her shoulders as if to imply that the cold didn’t bother her much, then she walked through the mess of people and out into the night air. The sky was clear, but the lights around the warehouse kept things too bright for her to see any stars. She breathed in the cool air and stretched a bit. She blew steam out of her mouth and thought about the group of friends in the building at her back. Part of her wanted to go back inside, to let the noise of them wash over her. It drowned out all of the things in her head, which was a relief sometimes. But the frigid air was refreshing in a different way, and she knew a little quiet would be a better thing in that moment.

“Chillin’ out here while the party goes on without you?” came a voice from too close beside her. Drama twitched and took a step sideways away from the hooded figure. She frowned a little until she saw the rosy cheeks emerge in the light. Faith smirked at her. “Still jumpy after all this time.”

Drama snorted and thrust her hands into her pockets. She dug at a spot in the asphalt with the toe of her boot. Faith leaned against the wall beside her and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of her black leather jacket. She offered one to the girl beside her. Drama took the entire pack in her hand and tossed them over her shoulder.

“Right,” Faith mumbled, “I guess that means I shouldn’t start a new hobby now?” 

Drama glared at her with intense green eyes. ‘You know better,’ she signed, frustrated. She looked over her shoulder at the door, then back to Faith. ‘You should come in.’

“You want me to hang out with the nerd squad?” The look of irritation didn’t get long to last on Drama’s face before Faith apologized. “Sorry,” she raised her hands defensively. “You’ve told me before. They’re your friends.” Faith looked her up and down, taking in all of the details from the last time they stood outside together in the cold and the dark, not talking while talking. Drama looked better these days. Faith could see a muscle in her jaw working slightly. Everything about the girl was pure muscle. She let her eyes follow the line of her neck as it disappeared under the loose collar of her black sweater. Faith knew how cut the shoulders under the knit fabric were. Drama could be anyone. She could be anything. Some of the programmers even speculated that she was trans, or that she was at least non-binary. Her name was the only thing that was clearly female about her to them. But she never spoke, so nobody brought it up.

“Who’s winning tonight?” Faith asked casually, looking away.

Drama snorted and glanced at her with a single eyebrow raised.

“Jesus,” Faith laughed and tapped her hand on the metal sheeting of the building. “Drew again? Fucking queen.” Faith checked her phone to see the time. “I should…” she looked away again. The girl beside her caught her arm gently in her hand and held her there for a moment. Those piercing green eyes looked slightly up into Faith’s brown ones, who noticed for what must have been the hundredth time how powerful Drama really was. She couldn’t help but notice it when they moved through the weights in the training room during their shared workout sessions. Drama would spot Faith on her bench presses and never broke a sweat racking the bar for her. Faith looked at the hand on her. “I can stay for a minute,” she whispered.

The other girl leaned in and kept her eyes focused on Faith without breaking or faltering in any way. She gently indicated again that they should go inside. Faith tried to laugh it off, but Drama’s face stayed serious. Faith rolled her eyes and shuffled her feet, but the blonde in front of her squeezed the forearm in her hand and asked her to be still. Her eyes searched out the objections in Faith’s expression and shot them down wordlessly. 

“It’s not that easy,” Faith pleaded. She imagined how it felt to run her fingers over the high cheekbones and soft skin of Drama’s face. It was flawless, pale, so smooth in the glow of the streetlights.

Drama let go of her arm and backed away an inch. She wound up slowly and punched Faith in the front of the shoulder, hard enough to make her stumble. Her brow creased, and she swept the hair out of her face with a free hand.

“You’re not on your own in there,” Faith reasoned. “They all like you.” She laughed again, but it felt so painful that her throat ached, almost as much as the shoulder she refused to rub. “They don’t need me.” She pulled the jacket closer around her body, feeling the cold for the first time. 

Drama lowered her head, shook it side to side, then stepped back up to Faith and grabbed the front of her shirt in a tight fist. She looked up into Faith’s brown eyes with a quiet desperation in her own that clearly said the words she could never utter. I need you. She pulled harder at the black t-shirt, twisting it in her fist, so close that Faith could feel her breath along the length of her collarbone. 

They’d been here before, and it was all Faith could do to let it happen without reacting too quickly. The first time, she had gotten too close, and Drama had punched her full on in the face, leaving a bruise that was hard to explain the next day. Faith lied to everyone about getting into a scuffle at the bar. It wasn’t hard to believe. She played it cool another time and tried to touch her hair. Drama had nearly sprained her wrist for that transgression. Interacting with her was dangerous, like trying to play with a mountain lion. There was clearly an attraction, but Faith never knew what would trigger Drama to move closer or walk away in a flush of anger. She should have stayed clear, kept her distance, and let it go. But she couldn’t. It wasn’t just that they had a working relationship that kept them close most days, it went deeper. They understood one another somehow, and the lack of words had been exactly what Faith had needed to be able to open up to someone. 

Faith breathed so slowly it felt like the air couldn’t make it into her lungs in time for her to push it back out again. She breathed in the scent of Drama, spicy and sweet in a way she couldn’t describe if she had to. “I’ll stay if you want me to,” she dared to whisper. Her hands were shaking at her sides. She didn’t want to move them, but she flexed her fingers to keep them warm.

Drama lifted her eyebrows a fraction and lifted her left hand to the front of Faith’s shoulder, placing it roughly on the edge of the leather jacket, now clutching with both hands. She took three hard breaths in quick succession, then nodded twice. They stood like that long enough that the cold started to creep into their shoes.

“Inside?” Faith asked. She inclined her head with such a small movement, but she was prepared for the woman grasping onto her to strike out without any notice.

The door opened beside them, and the sudden noise and light made them both jump. Drama pushed with everything she had, and sent Faith flying to her ass in the gravel and asphalt. She kept herself sitting by scraping the skin of both palms on the ground. She swung a bitter face toward Willow, who was standing in the doorway, framed by the light and laughter from inside. Drama wiped her sleeve over her face and stormed into the building past the redhead. 

“Has anybody ever called you dick, Rosenberg?”

“Not today.”

“Well you’re a fucking dick.” Faith brushed off her sleeves and stood up, checking her jeans for any new holes. 

Willow rolled her eyes and turned to head back inside. She stopped and reconsidered, remembering her promise to Tara to try to be nicer, to smooth things over. It certainly wasn’t her first choice, but she understood the request, and she felt drawn to hold onto the promises she had made. “There’s beer inside,” she said without looking at the other woman.

“I don’t need your charity. I’m fine.” She felt in her pockets for her keys. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.” Willow avoided making eye contact. 

Faith shook her head and chuckled. “Whatever. Why don’t you just go back inside and play with your little friends.” 

Willow let the door slam shut and walked over to face the woman she couldn’t stand to be near anymore. She hadn’t been able to get past how Faith had played her by threatening Tara. The rest of Vector made sense to her, and she could forgive the misunderstandings and rough introductions, but this was the part she couldn’t forgive. “Everyone in there is willing to give you a shot,” she threw the words at the brunette. “Why can’t you just stop being a bitch for one second? They could be your friends, too.”

All of the physical pressure from her contact with Drama was still tingling in Faith’s limbs, and she thundered down onto Willow, running her backwards up to the wall of the warehouse. She pinned her in place by the shoulders and breathed roughly into her face. “Because of you, you little punk!” she shouted. She shoved the redhead into the wall again, and her face was scrunched up in pure agony. 

Willow breathed through her nose and froze in place as Faith pounded their bodies together. She was too close, too intimate, and the feelings between them were raw with all that they couldn’t speak into existence. Her head ached from where it had bounced off the sheet metal. The sound of them fighting must have rattled the windows. The door flew open, and Tara and Drama rushed out to break things up. Faith felt herself being pulled back by her shoulders, and she tried to shake off the grip, but strong hands spun her and kept her moving away. 

“What the hell is going on out here?” Tara shouted wildly. She looked back and forth between all of them with her arms outstretched. “Faith?” she squared her shoulders and marched over to where Drama held the other woman, still trying to pull her away. The others were spilling out of the warehouse door as everything unfolded. “Faith?” Tara spat. “Why does this keep happening?” she pointed her finger toward Faith’s chest, driving her back further.

Drama put a warning hand on each of their shoulders to keep the women apart from one another. Tara scowled at her with a warning of her own, but Faith looked cowed for once. She kept her eyes on Drama, knowing she had pushed things too far.

Tara pulled her shoulder away from the contact of the other blonde, and she straightened her spine. “I can’t believe I actually have to say this, but keep your hands off my girlfriend.”

Drama stepped in between them and nodded to Tara. I’ve got this. Let it go. She tapped Faith’s shoulders again and they both stumbled off to the motorcycle parked a few steps away. 

“Not again,” Scotty breathed to Petra by his side. They stared at the spectacle from the safety of the doorway. 

Drew stepped up behind them and put his arms around them. “That woman needs someone to kick her ass.”

Petra folded her arms inward and shrank at Drew’s words. “She needs someone to love her,” she whispered. She rolled out of Drew’s embrace and slipped back inside, alone. 

“You’re chatty today,” Drew sipped his cup of coffee and stared out the window of the cafe at the rain pouring down.

“Just… thinking,” Willow replied in her best cagey voice. She tried to smile, but she knew he could see right through her. “You didn’t ask me out for coffee so that we could bond, Drew.”

“No,” he folded his arms over his chest and leaned back into the squishy chair. He always coveted the oversized armchairs by the fireplace in this coffee house, but he was realizing now that they were a little too soft. 

“You can be mad at me. You can even yell at me if you want,” she offered. He looked back at her and frowned. “Everybody has been mad at me lately. I’m getting used to it.”

Tara had already told him as much, and that was in the same conversation where she told him to get over his own shit about all of this. She was tired of him grumbling and coming up with excuses whenever she offered to have the three of them hang out. Nobody could see through him like that woman could, and she was losing patience. “Goddammit, Drew,” she had yelled at him over the phone, “we’ve all had to adjust and figure this out now that things have changed! But give her a break. You’re my best friend, and she’s my girlfriend, and I won’t have you bickering.”

“I was mad,” he corrected her, “but I’m getting over it.” She drank from the oversized mug and tried not to get whipped cream on her lips, but she failed horrifically. Drew snickered at her foamy face. “You are such a dork,” he laughed at her.

She smiled. “It’s an endearing quality. Makes it hard for you to stay mad at me. Glad it worked.”

“I don’t know what to do without her in my life,” he confessed suddenly.

“Neither do I.”

Drew tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “Everything got so crazy with all your lesbian-tech-geek-drama bullshit, and that made it really easy to blame you.” He picked up his cup again, but it was empty already. “But your friends are awesome,” he smiled with tears building up in his eyes. “I had no idea who you really were. What you were. You’re not easy to compete with.”

“Likewise,” she looked away briefly, then shifted back to looking at Drew’s perfectly wrinkled blue shirt. He hadn’t changed since she had met him, but some part of him was older now. They all were. Fear does that. It brings out the age in a person, and it never lets go once it has that kind of hold over you. Drew embodied a kind of boyish elegance that no one ever got to keep after they turned twenty, but he had found a way of pulling it off with a flippant attitude and flawless skin. She silently envied the love Tara gave him, but she could see why it existed, and she had nothing to challenge it. “I think Tara has enough love for both of us.”

“Someone has to take her for a regular manicure,” he managed to say. 

“She created a family out of us. She sees something in me that no one else does.”

“It’s because she’s the best of us,” he explained. Willow smiled and nodded. She knew he was right. “So,” he breathed in and forced himself to change the subject, “what do we do about Faith?”

“We don’t. There isn’t anything we can do.” Willow drained the last of her mocha. “She has to figure this out on her own.”

“Well,” he smiled in a sly way, “it doesn’t look like Drama wants her to be alone.”

“You don’t think,” Willow frowned and tilted her head to the side.

“I do.”

“No way. Not those two.” She thought about it, about how close they were at work, how they move fluidly around one another, how they were both shut off and unapproachable, how they each had one hell of a cinder block wall around themselves at all times.

Drew leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “Why don’t you ask her? Isn’t tonight movie night at the Maclay household?”

Willow ran her hands through her hair. “Can you make it?” She looked away from him, worried that he would see how much she wanted him to say yes. The animosity between them had been painful for her to bear. She knew how angry he was about everything she had put them through, especially after they had only just figured out how to confront Tara’s own dark past. 

“Can I bring someone?” he asked quietly.

Willow instantly faced him with a huge smile. “Does this someone have a name?”

“This is Tyler,” Drew introduced him nervously at the door to Tara. 

She smiled without hesitation and reached out a warm hand to the tall man standing next to Drew on her front porch. “It’s so nice to meet you, Tyler.” He smiled back with gleaming white teeth, skin the color of rich espresso, and the most absorbing hazel eyes Tara had ever seen. “Come in!” she beckoned them both inside. Drew was glowing. She leaned in against him and whispered, “Oh my god, he is gorgeous!”

“Wow,” Tyler breathed once he was inside. His eyes swept over the grandeur of the fully restored living room and dining room of the craftsman house. “This house is amazing.” He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up to take in the view better.

“Ooh,” Willow emerged from the kitchen to see the two men just arriving. “You are so tall,” she said to the guy standing in front of her. She smiled and held out her hand. “You must be Tyler. I’m Willow.” She looked over at Tara. “I’m hers.”

“You’re the one who fixed this place?” he looked down at her from at least a foot higher. 

“I’m good with my hands,” she shrugged.

“So I keep hearing,” Drew mumbled next to Tara. She shoved him roughly and they snickered like nothing had ever changed between them.

“Hey!” Willow chastised them with an intense glare. “It just so happens I need a man right now.” She motioned to Tyler, “Could you help me reach something in the top cabinet in the kitchen?”

“Sure,” he agreed. He spared a glance backwards to Drew, who blew him a kiss, and then he followed Willow out of the dining room. 

Another knock at the door kept Tara from getting to ask Drew about all of the details of his new boyfriend. She let in Petra and Drama. Scotty was on the steps behind them, struggling with a stack of dishes. She saved his dignity by grabbing the salad balanced on top. “Chivalry is alive and well,” he said to thank her. The girls in front of him laughed and held the door open for him. 

Dinner was a mess. Drew knocked over the bottle of wine he and Tyler had brought, Scotty dumped an entire bowl of ice across the kitchen floor, and Petra got the giggles so bad that she ended up with hiccups that wouldn’t leave her alone for over an hour. They ate and laughed through everything, and Tyler proved to be a charming addition to the scene. Drew bit his lip in adoration every time the man sitting next to him fiddled with his glasses. He looked to Tara over and over for her opinion, and she never failed to smile or give him a thumbs up when she thought no one else was looking. Her heart was bursting with happiness for her best friend. 

She politely excused herself from the rabble of laughter and talk and walked through the kitchen to the basement door to look for another bottle of wine. Her hands ran over the smooth railing on the steps that Willow had installed the week before. Her hands were constantly busy fussing over the house, fussing over Tara, pulling them together, messing up her hair before she had to run out the door to make it to class. Tara smiled inside and out at the thought of her. She clutched the railing at the bottom of the steps and looked up at the floorboards of the old house holding so many of her friends, new and old. She closed her eyes and listened to their laughter pour through the wood and concrete, over surfaces that her grandmother and her mother had polished and cleaned and fixed themselves. This house, the same house that had nearly killed her to hold on to, was hers. She smiled again and breathed in the musty basement air, looked around to where the wine rack rested against the back wall, and picked out a red blend to take back upstairs to her friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's that. I hope you've enjoyed this work. It's been a fun ride along the way for me. It feels really good to have an ending that feels right, and to know where and when to stop. If you enjoyed some of the non-canon characters I created along the way, stay tuned for some additional works in this universe about them. I've spent so much time with them, they sort of feel like family now.


End file.
